don't in the least object to the music, you know."

Fred fixed his gaze on a large old-fashioned oil painting on the
opposite wall, a copy from some of the innumerable pastorals which have
been made in imitation of Nicholas Poussin. It was of no particular
value, but it was surrounded by a beautiful carved Venetian frame, and
was one of those things which confer an air of distinction upon a
Boston parlor, because they are plainly the art purchases of a bygone
generation.

"But you have, of course, had no end of girls running in to see you,"
he observed.

"Yes; but, then, that didn't make up for the Throgmorton ball. You ask
what else there was to lose; I should think that was enough. Why, Janet
Graham says she never had such a lovely time in her life."

"Is Miss Graham engaged to Fred Gore?" Rangely asked.

Ethel's gesture of dissent showed how little she would have approved of
such a consummation.

"No, indeed," she returned. "Fred Gore only wants Janet's money,
anyway; and she can't abide him, any more than I can."

"Then, you have the correct horror of a marriage for money."

"I think a girl is a fool to let a man marry her for her money. She'd
much better give him her fortune and keep herself back. Then she'd at
least save something. I don't approve of people's marrying for money