This remark dispelled Gault’s preoccupation. He remained in the same position and continued staring at the cushion, but his glance had changed from its absent absorption to a fixed and listening intentness.
Viola saw that she had interested him, and continued with happy volubility:
“Sometimes, when I have nothing to do and am here alone, I think how I would furnish this room if I could buy anything I saw, and could just say to some outside person, the way princesses do, ‘I have bought so much; please pay the bill.’ I’ve done it in white and gold, and in crimson with black wood, teak or ebony, very plain and heavy; and also in striped cretonnes with bunches of flowers, and little chairs and sofas with spindle legs. There’s a great deal of satisfaction in it. It’s almost as good as having it really happen.”
“It sounds very amusing,” said Gault, as she paused; “but then, castles in the air,” he added, turning to look at her, “are never quite the same as the real thing.”
“If you can’t get the real thing, you take the castles in the air,” she answered, smiling.
“Tell me some more of yours.”
“Oh, they’re just silly dreams, and mercenary ones, too. My castles are all built on a foundation of money. It’s a dreadful thing to have to acknowledge, but I’m afraid I am mercenary. And it’s such a horrid fault to have.”
“But isn’t it rather a useful one?” he could not forbear asking.
“Not so far. Once I had my palm read by a palmist, and he told me I was going to be very prosperous—to have great riches. That’s one of my best castles in the air. I’m all the time wondering about it, and where my great riches are coming from.”
She spread both hands, palms up, on the table, and studied them as if trying to elicit further secrets from their delicately lined surfaces.