risk it," was her lame conclusion.

"But imagine the evenings," exclaimed her aunt, pointing to the Mansions
with the spout of the watering can. "Turn the electric light on here
or there, and it's almost the same room. One evening they may forget to
draw their blinds down, and you'll see them; and the next, you yours,
and they'll see you. Impossible to sit out on the balconies. Impossible
to water the plants, or even speak. Imagine going out of the front-door,
and they come out opposite at the same moment. And yet you tell me that
plans are unnecessary, and you'd rather risk it."

"I hope to risk things all my life."

"Oh, Margaret, most dangerous."

"But after all," she continued with a smile, "there's never any great
risk as long as you have money."

"Oh, shame! What a shocking speech!"

"Money pads the edges of things," said Miss Schlegel. "God help those
who have none."

"But this is something quite new!" said Mrs. Munt, who collected new
ideas as a squirrel collects nuts, and was especially attracted by those
that are portable.

"New for me; sensible people have acknowledged it for years. You and I
and the Wilcoxes stand upon money as upon islands. It is so firm beneath
our feet that we forget its very existence. It's only when we see some
one near us tottering that we realise all that an independent income
means. Last night, when we were talking up here round the fire, I began
to think that the very soul of the world is economic, and that the
lowest abyss is not the absence of love, but the absence of coin."

"I call that rather cynical."

"So do I. But Helen and I, we ought to remember, when we are tempted to
criticise others, that we are standing on these islands, and that most
of the others are down below the surface of the sea. The poor cannot
always reach those whom they want to love, and they can hardly ever
escape from those whom they love no longer. We rich can. Imagine the
tragedy last June, if Helen and Paul Wilcox had been poor people, and
couldn't invoke railways and motor-cars to part them."

"That's more like Socialism," said Mrs. Munt suspiciously.

"Call it what you like. I call it going through life with one's hand
spread open on the table. I'm tired of these rich people who pretend
to be poor, and think it shows a nice mind to ignore the piles of money
that keep their feet above the waves. I stand each year upon six hundred
pounds, and Helen upon the same, and Tibby will stand upon