"He says we can't afford it."
"Then Gerald ought to give you one. The Wychcotes simply stink of money!"
Sophy smiled faintly. She could never get used to hearing such words come so simply from pretty lips. Her black "Mammy" had once washed her little tongue with soap for saying "stink."
"I know," she said; "but Gerald gives Cecil an allowance as it is."
Olive opened her hyacinth-blue eyes frankly.
"But Cecil had quite a fortune of his own! How does that happen?"
"I don't know," said Sophy tiredly. Money did not interest her. She had a thousand dollars a year from her father's estate. That gave her a rich feeling of independence. She loved to feel that her clothes, even her underlinen and shoes and stockings, were bought with her own money. She did not know how much it was that Gerald Wychcote allowed his younger brother. She had never asked. But she knew that the house in Regent's Park belonged to Gerald and that he let them have it for a nominal rent.
"I think it's a shame!" said Olive. "I suppose he made ducks and drakes of it with that exploring fad, and travelling in India and such places. Such nonsense!"
Then she took Sophy's hand again.
"Do come!" she coaxed. "There's a perfect dear of a man I want you so much to meet. A friend of Varesca's—a Lombard nobleman, the Marchese Amaldi. Italians are perfectly enchanting. Don't you think so?— I am like Lord Carlisle ... 'Italianissimo'!"