h walked along with
Horatia. 'What do you want to ask me about?' she demanded of her friend.

'Well, it's this: why do you hate being rich?' she asked.

Sarah stared at her in wonder for a moment. 'Was that really what you
wanted to ask me?' and as Horatia nodded her head, she continued, 'What
an extraordinary question! I should think any one could see why for
herself. Do you think it's any pleasure to eat off Sevres china, so
valuable that a servant goes in dread of his life lest he should break a
piece, or to have gold plate one is afraid of scratching, or to be
surrounded by stuffy carpets?'

Horatia interrupted her with a merry little laugh. 'How can you be
surrounded by carpets?' she demanded.

'You know quite well what I mean, only you choose to turn it off with a
laugh, and that's one of the things I don't like about you; you turn
things just the way you choose. And the carpets do seem to stifle me,
though you don't believe it,' declared Sarah.

'I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to laugh; but the picture of you
surrounded by stuffy carpets did amuse me so. But one thing I don't
believe, and that is that you really hate being rich,' persisted Horatia.

'You mean that I tell untruths?' replied Sarah.

'No, I don't; I mean that you wouldn't really like to be poor. I don't
believe you'd even like to have so little money as we have, though it's
plenty for us; and as for being really poor, I'd just like to see you try
it. At least, I just wouldn't, because I'd hate to see you miserable, and
you would be miserable with no money and no one bowing down before you
and getting you what you want before you asked for it, and everything.'

'Well, I've a kind of idea that you will have a chance of seeing who is
right, you or I, one of these days,' was Sarah's answer.

'I wish you'd tell me why you say that, Sarah--I do really,' said
Horatia.

To say what she really felt was impossible to Sarah, for at the bottom of
her hatred of her riches was the feeling that they had been unjustly, if
not dishonourably, obtained, and that other people knew it and despised
them for it, and this was gall and wormwood to a girl of her proud
spirit.

'How can I possibly tell you why any idea comes into my head any more
than I can tell you why I think it's going to rain to-night in spite of
its being so lovely just now?' demanded Sarah.

'That's quite a different thing. There's a west wind blowing, and it
feels like rain,' said Horat