He was quite unconscious of her minute examination. How changed he was, poor boy! He was not growing old; he was aging. What had wrought this change? Work? A long series of defeats? Unrewarded toil? She leaned back in her chair, and the light in her eyes would have blinded Williard had he turned just then.
"What have you been doing this long year?" he asked presently.
"Wanderlust. I have flitted from place to place, always dissatisfied."
"Dissatisfied—you?"
"Yes, John. To be truly unhappy is to be rich and unhappy. It is the hope of some time being rich that dulls the unhappiness of the poor. Money buys only inanimate things."
"I have heard of you sometimes."
"What have you heard?"
"There was a prince or duke, I forget which."
"He wanted to marry me," lightly.
"And you?"