"Seventeen—by no means an antique. Speaking of princesses and ogres, has it occurred to you that you would bring a fortune in the market?"
"Mr. Chase!"
"You know, it's barely possible that you may be put in a matrimonial shop window if Von Blitz and his friends should capture you alive. Ever think of that?"
"Good heavens! You—why, what a horrible thing to say!"
"You won't bring as much in the South Sea market as you would in Rapp-Thorberg or Paris, but I daresay you could be sold for—"
"Please, Mr. Chase, don't suggest anything so atrocious," she cried, something like terror in her voice.
"Neenah's father sold her for a handful of gems," said he, with distinct meaning in his voice. She was silent, and he went on after a moment. "Is there so much difference, after all, where one is sold, just so long as the price is satisfactory to all concerned?"
"You are very unkind, Mr. Chase," she said with quiet dignity. "I do not deserve your sarcasm."
"I humbly plead for forgiveness," he said, suddenly contrite. "It was beastly."
"American wit, I imagine you call it," she said scornfully. "I don't care to talk with you any longer."