"Her millions!"

It was inspiriting to repeat those two words to herself. It
strengthened her resolve and made her feel how wise she had been
to break with Frank. Perhaps, after all, it were better for him
not to come back. He was right about the gulf between them, and
even since his departure it was widening appreciably.

Then she realised what all rich people realise sooner or later.

"I don't own all that money," she said to herself. "IT OWNS ME!"
And with that she went indoors and cried part of the forenoon and
spent the rest of it in trying on her new clothes.

Wealth, if it did not bring happiness, at least brought some
pleasant distractions.

II

It was fully a year before Frank saw her again; a long year to
him, soberly passed in his shipboard duties, with recurring weeks
ashore at New York and Buenos Ayres. He had grown more reserved
and silent than before; fonder of his books; keener in his taste
for abstract science. He avoided his old friends and made no new
ones. The world seemed to be passing him while he stood still. He
wondered how others could laugh when his own heart was so heavy,
and he preferred to go his own way, solitary and unnoticed, taking
an increasing pleasure in his isolation. He continued to write to
Bridgeport, for there were a few old friends whom he could not
disregard altogether, though he made his letters as infrequent as