"No. I don't like your saying that. I haven't the slightest intention of falling in love with any man at all. I shan't be wanting to marry—really marry——" she added, coloring a little. "I've begun my work. It needed Paris again. And I'm going to succeed. You'll see."
"I haven't a doubt of it. You were made for success—and for happiness."
"Sure and I think that I was—now that you mention it," she put in quaintly.
"I won't bother you. You can be certain of that," he finished positively. And then cautiously, "Things have not gone well—financially, I mean?"
"No. And of course father's worried about it. Our income from Ireland has stopped coming—something about repairs, he says. But then, I suppose we will get it again some day. Dad never did tell me anything, you know."
Horton thought for a moment.
"He doesn't want to worry you, of course. And you oughtn't to be worried. Things will come out all right."
"I intend that they shall. Father always gave me the best when he had it. I'll see that he doesn't suffer now."
"But that's my job, Moira. We'll get some money together—some way—when I get out."
"Thanks. But I'm hoping to do a lot of painting. I've got one portrait to begin on—and it doesn't cost much in the Quartier."