hird.

"Is there anything the matter with you, Mr.--why, you haven't told me
your name!"

With a tremendous effort Cornelius Allendyce pulled himself together. He
flushed under the wondering wide-eyed scrutiny of his companion, who
reached out and laid a small, warm hand upon his.

"You're not ill, are you?" with solicitude.

"No--no, my dear. No, I am not ill. But I am upset. You see--I came
here--well, I call it--a most interesting story. Up in Connecticut
there's a small town and a very big mill which has been there for ever
so long, heaping up millions of dollars. And there's a very big house
there that looks like a castle because it's built of gray stone and is
up on a hill--it has everything but the moat itself. And an old lady
lives there all alone." The lawyer paused, a little frightened at a wild
thought that was persistently creeping up over his sensibilities. It
must be the lavender tie or the witchery of the flowers and the absurd
chirping birds.

"Oh, that's the old Dragon!" cried Robin, delightedly, with a chuckle as
though she knew all about the old lady and the lonely castle. "That's
what Jimmie calls her--poor old thing. Jimmie says she must be
dreadfully unhappy in that lonely old house after all that's happened
there."

"Do you--do you mean that--you _know_--"

"About those rich Forsyth's? Why, of course. That's Jimmie's pet
story--about his terrible relatives."

"But your father has never--"

"Seen her? Oh, no. Jimmie's very proud, you see. And he thinks one good
picture is worth more than any old fortune or mill or anything. Oh,
Jimmie's wonderful. Why, we wouldn't trade our little home here for two
of her castles! Jimmie couldn't paint if he were rich. He says money
kills genius. Only--" She stopped abruptly, flushing.

"Only what, my dear--"

"I ought not to rattle on like this to you. Jimmie says I
am--sometimes--_too_ friendly. I suppose it's because I don't know many
people. But I wish I just had a _little_ money. You see _I'm_ not a bit
of a genius. I can't paint like Jimmie or sing like my mother did--or do
a single thing."

Now Mr. Allendyce suddenly felt so excited that he wriggled on the
rickety chair until it creaked threateningly.

"If you had money, Miss Gordon--what would you do?"

"Why I'd run away." She answered with startling promptness. "Oh, I don't
mean that I'm not happy here. I love it. And I adore Jimmie. But I'm a
girl and I'm lame, so I'm a--a millstone '