. He had an allowance which,
obviously, was very liberal and with which he was liberal enough. Unlike
many rich men he was not close. But to fancy him beneficent was
laughable. Cassy could not imagine him in the role of Lord Bountiful.
Then too there was something queer about him. He hated to be alone.
There are people who kill silence and he was one of them. He was always
talking. Cassy could not understand it. To be silent with any one
procures an intimacy which talk cannot supply. Moreover solitude was as
necessary to her and as refreshing as her bath. Silence and solitude he
could not endure. She tilted her nose and went to the window.

That night they were to go to the opera. But in a moment she was to
motor in and see her father. Since she put Harlem behind her, she had
wondered and worried about him. The condition of his heart was hazardous
and she had been told that any excitement might be fatal. She had
worried over that, over his sudden rages at tradespeople, and she had
been fearful lest Mrs. Yallum, the janitress, who spoke no known tongue,
had, instead of being of use, only enraged him further.

She would see to it, though. It was for that she was going in. As yet
she had no money. But there were the rings and one more or one less,
what did it matter? Of the lot she preferred the string of hoops. It was
quaint, there was nothing philistine about it and probably it had not
cost so very much. The emerald was different. It was a stone that would
please any woman with plenty of money and a modicum of taste. Probably
it had cost a thousand on Fifth Avenue, in which case it would fetch a
hundred on Broadway. Or if not, then the sapphire would. Either or both
she would hock very willingly. But not the hoop-ring and not the opal,
unless she had to, and if Paliser, who apparently noticed nothing and
saw everything, asked concerning them, why then she would out with it.
Her father was a beggar! Did he expect her to let him starve? But what
on earth do you suppose I married you for? For yourself? Take a walk. I
sold myself for bread--and butter, and you can fork them over.

At the possibility of any such conversation--and of such language!--she
flushed afresh and again called herself a fool. There could be no such
conversation. Paliser would never question. He was too indifferent The
consciousness comforted, precisely as, a moment before, the picture of
herself shovelling gold had moved her to tears.

Then absently