She looked him squarely in the eyes. “Do you consider, Mr. Ames, that you have survived as one of the fittest?”
“H’m! Well, now––what would you say about that?”
“I should say decidedly no,” was the blunt reply.
A dark shade crossed his face, and he bit his lip. People did not generally talk thus to him. And yet––this wisp of a girl! Pshaw! She was very amusing. And, heavens above! how beautiful, as she sat there beside him, her head erect, and her face delicately flushed. He reached over and took her hand. Instantly she drew it away.
“You are the kind,” she went on, “who give money to the poor, and then take it away from them again. All the money which these rich people here to-night are giving to charity has been wrested from the poor. And you give only a part of it back to them, at that. This Ball is just a show, a show of dress and jewels. Why, it only sets an example which makes others unhappy, envious, and discontented. Don’t you see that? You ought to.”
“My dear little girl,” he said in a patronizing tone, “don’t you think you are assuming a great deal? I’m sure I’m not half so bad as you paint me.”
Carmen smiled. “Well, the money you give away has got to come from some source, hasn’t it? And you manipulate the stock market and put through wheat corners and all that, and catch the poor people and take their money from them! Charity is love. But your idea of charity makes me pity you. Up here I find a man can pile up hundreds of millions by stifling competition, by debauching legislatures, by piracy and legalized theft, and then give a tenth of it to found a university, and so atone for his crimes. That is called charity. Oh, I know a lot about such things! I’ve been studying and thinking a great deal since I came to the United States.”
“Have you come with a mission?” he bantered. And there was a touch of aspersion in his voice.
“I’ve come with a message,” she replied eagerly.