watching me--even the peasants have a feeling for
paint over there--we heard a tap on the window. It was the padrona. I saw
that she wanted to speak to me, and I went in. She was an old, crippled
woman, holding to life by sheer will, sitting all day by the fire in one
room. She spoke French, so we could talk. To my surprise she was very much
interested in me--asked questions about my work, my family, and so on. I
couldn't understand why. But when I left she began crying and told me that
I reminded her of her grandson who had been killed in Tripoli, and that
there was no one of the family name left, but that she had to leave the
property either to a cousin whom she detested, or to the Church. And she
said just what you have: that this wasn't the _same thing_. She had
nothing to live for, she said, now the heir was dead, except keep the
place out of others' hands. There she was, a prisoner in that beautiful
villa, enjoying nothing, where an artist would have been in paradise. I
see her yet, bent over the fire in a black lace shawl, crying.

On my way back to town I happened to think of my last visit with you, and
my state of mind returned, my feeling of dependence and the gloomy
Thanksgiving dinner. The shock of contrast between my old and my new self
stopped me short in the road. In a flash I saw the lying materialism on
which the world is based, the curse of dollar worship that keeps
opportunity away from the young, at the same time it keeps the old in a
prison of loneliness and suspicion. If we worshipped life instead of metal
disks, we would see that the young are not really the heirs of the old,
but the old are heirs of the young. Then and there I vowed to keep myself
clear of the whole wretched tangle, even if I had to carry laundry all my
life, so that if any one ever tried to fetter me I could fling his words
back in his face! (_Uncle Richard's nerves are all on edge. A terrific
storm of overbearing temper visibly gathers during this speech, and the
Colonel's long habit of successful domination seems about to assert itself
in an explosion. But at the last moment another power, deeper than habit,
older than character, represses his wrath, and when Uncle Richard speaks
again it is with an earnest gentleness almost plaintive._)

UNCLE RICHARD

Richard, for heaven's sake let us stop this quarreling! Let us forget what
has been said and done on both sides and begin anew. I offer you a home
here during my life time, an