I laughed, but they thought it a self-conscious laugh. Somehow I was not equal to the task of enlightening them.
"It is jolly to be rich," said Ethel, clicking her skates together. "It's a bother at times, however, to know what to do with the money. I buy so many things I do not need just because I feel compelled to spend my allowance."
"It must be very inconvenient," I observed.
"And now that you are a man of leisure," said Phyllis, "you will write that book you have always been telling me about?"
"Do you wish it?" I asked.
"I do. What I have always found lacking in you is application. You start out to accomplish something, you find an obstacle in your path and you do not surmount it; you do not persevere."
My pulse beat quickly. Was there a double meaning to what she said? I could not tell, for her eyes remained averted.
I sighed. "It would be nice to become a successful author, but when a man is as rich as I am fame tarnishes." I took out an envelope from my pocket.
"What is that?" asked Phyllis.
I turned over the back and showed it to her.