“Well, there is nothing remarkable about that.”
“That is true,” assented Virginia. “The remarkable thing is that I like him—a little.” Her eyes were fixed upon the fire. There was a pause before she went on. “I have never liked any of them at all before, as you know very well. I never expect to—very much. Papa, you afford me everything I want; can you afford me Roderick Le Garde?”
“Do you know what you are asking, Virginia, or why?” he said, gravely.
“I have thought it over, of course. Couldn’t you put him in charge at one of the mills or somewhere on a comfortable number of thousands a year? Of course I can’t starve, you know, and frocks cost something.”
“My daughter is not likely to want for frocks,” said John Fenley, frowning involuntarily. “You did not take my meaning. I wish your mother were here, child.”
“I am sufficiently interested, if that is what you mean,” said Virginia, still tranquilly. “He is different, papa; and I am tired of the jeunesse dorée. Perhaps it is because I am so much dorée myself that they bore me. Roderick has enthusiasms and ideals; I am one of them; I like it. You, papa, love me for what I am. It is much more exciting to be loved for what one is not.”
Her father knit his brows and smoked in silence for a few minutes. Virginia played with the ribbons of her pug.
“Marylander, isn’t he?”
“Something of the sort; I forget just what.”
“H’m!”