"How sweet of you, Mr. Barham! In these mercenary days to hear such a sentiment from a man—it is quite too lovely for anything!"
Mrs. Van Winkle spoke the words with a languid drawl, but there was a humorous twinkle in her eye. In point of fact, it was often difficult to tell how far she meant her utterances to be taken seriously. Grace, in the spirit of anti-humbug, struck in gayly,
"I am a Philistine. I like riches. I should like to know once how it feels to be very rich. I think I could work in Wall Street—whatever that may mean—all my life, if I could earn lots of money; but I never shall."
Barham looked at her, with a steady gaze. Was she in earnest?
"I heard the worship of wealth was as great in London as in New York—but I did not believe it."
"Well," said Mordaunt, "all I can say is, I know several instances in the Life Guards where a fellow's having a pot of money prejudiced other fellows against him. They sent him to Coventry because his father dropped his h's, and they made up their minds the son couldn't be a gentleman. I know one very nice chap who couldn't stand it—had to leave. So you see the worship of money isn't universal."
"We don't drop our h's," Ferrars said. "But there are few colloquial sins we may not commit with impunity if we have half a million of dollars a year, and entertain."
"Ah! You have it there!" interposed Mrs. Van Winkle. "Our rich people are bound to entertain. Otherwise they are of no account. It is very logical. We, of the blue blood, want amusements, but are too poor to give magnificent fêtes. We honor them with our presence, and the obligation is more than repaid."
"I honor the sentiment. It is worthy of blue blood, and it carries conviction with it."
"Mr. Ferrars is detestably satirical, but no one minds what he says," and the lady rose. "It is nearly dinner-time. We must leave you, my dear." And so the party broke up.