"Why not?" she asked.
"Because we despise people in trades," he said, contemptuously.
"But the tradesmen who make the fortunes are quite as good as their daughters, who barter themselves and their fathers' wealth for titles. You seem to approve of such alliances."
They had reached the veranda of the Clayton home. Esther Bright's hand was on the door knob, and her companion took his leave.
How radical she must seem to him!
As she entered her own room, she found a letter bearing a London postmark. It was the first letter she had received from Kenneth Hastings, and it was a long one. She read it through, and then reread it, and buried her face in her arms on the table. After awhile there came a knock on the door. It was Carla. She had been crying. Esther slipped an arm about her, and together they sat on the edge of the bed.
"What is the matter, Carla?" she asked gently.
"Oh, I am so unhappy!"
"Has anyone hurt your feelings, dear?"
"Oh, no. It is not that. It is the other. I wish I could die!"