e," she said, pushing his hair back. "Do
you know that your profile is absolutely Greek?" Her eyes half closed
critically. "Yes, we shall be at home about eleven o'clock. I wrote
to Stephen to order all the dishes that you like for luncheon. Your
mother and Jack are coming. It will be such a gay, happy day!"

He took her hand. He would tell her now. It would not distress her.
The money weighed for nothing in her life. He was her world; he knew
that.

"Lucy!" he said.

She turned, startled at his grave tone. The color rose in her delicate
little face, and there was a keen flash of intelligence in her blue
eyes. It vanished, and they were only blue and innocent.

"Lucy, would you be willing to come to my house? To take it for home?
To be a poor man's wife, there? God knows I'll try to make you happy
in it."

"No," she said gently. "That is your mother's home. She has made it.
It is not fair to bring young queen bees into the old queen's hive. We
will live at your house, Dunbar Place, George."

"It is not mine nor yours!" George broke out. "Oh, my darling, I have
hidden something from you. It is all gone. Your property, income,
every thing! The Consolidated Consolidated Companies failed. Their
depositors are ruined."

"Yes, I know," said Lucy, brushing a fallen leaf from her gown. "But
they had no control over my affairs. I withdrew them from their
management in February."

George started up. "Then you--you are a great heiress still?"

"No." She rose, holding out her hands, laughing. "My husband, I
believe, is a rich man, and I shall have what he gives me."

But he did not hear her. He walked away down the road, shaken by a
dumb fury. He had been tricked! Who had tricked him?

Then he heard a miserable sob and turned. Great God! Was any thing on
earth so dear as that little woman standing there? She was crying!
Had he struck her? He was a brute. What had he done?

He ran to her, and taking her outstretched hands, kissed them
passionately.

"They are mine--mine!" he whispered, and knew nothing beyond.

They walked together like two happy children down the shady lane toward
the golden sunset. The money was forgotten.

End of Project Gutenberg's Frances Waldeaux, by Rebecca Harding Davis

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES WALDEAUX ***

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