"You are the Mr. Wray?" she asked him. "The rich Mr. Wray?"
Jeff flushed with pleasure. Nothing ever tickled him more than a reference to his possessions.
"I'm Wray—from Colorado. And you—you know I've never seen a real live baroness before. So don't mind if I look at you a little. You see, we never have anybody like you out our way——"
"I don't mind in the least," she said with a slight accent. "What did you think a baroness ought to look like?"
"I had a kind of an idea she was stoutish, wore a crown, and sat in a big chair all day, ordering people around."
"I'm afraid you read fairy stories. I don't own a crown, and I might order people all day, but nobody would pay the least attention to me."
"What a pity," he said soberly.
His ingenuousness was refreshing.
"You know, Mr. Wray, baronesses aren't any more important nowadays than anybody else. The only barons worth while in the world are the Coal Barons, the Wheat Barons, the Gold Barons, like you." And then, "Did you know that you were to take me in? Are you glad?"
"Of course," with a vague attempt at gallantry. "I'd take you anywhere and be proud to."