"I am young, but I know something of life," said Doris. "I know that money can purchase everything, can do everything, can influence everything."
"But," said Lady Estelle, drawing still further from her, "you would not surely tell me that of all the gifts of this world you value money most."
"I think I do," said Doris, with a frank smile.
"That is strange in one so young," said Lady Estelle. "I am so sorry." Then she rose, saying, coldly: "You will like to see the pictures. You think it strange that I should speak to you in this fashion. As I told you before, a love-story interests me. I am sorry that you have none."
The change was soon perceived by Doris, and just as quickly understood.
"I do not think," she said, gently, "that you have quite understood me. I do not love money; that is, the actual gold. It is the pleasures that money can purchase which seem to me so enviable, that I long so urgently for."
Lady Estelle smiled.
"I see—I understand. You did not express just what you meant; that is a different thing. There seems to me something hateful in the love of money. So you long for pleasure, my poor child. You little know how soon it would tire you."
"Indeed, it never would," she replied, eagerly. "I should like—oh, how much I should like!—to live always in rooms beautiful as these, to wear shining jewels, rich silks, costly laces! I do not, and never have, liked my own home; in some strange way it never seems to belong to me, nor I to it."
Lady Estelle drew near to her again.