"It was amusing. Some busybody would always manage to introduce me as the rich Miss Wycklift; and then the comedy would begin. Perhaps I was spiteful; but I knew that it was only my money."
"Have you ever looked in your mirror?" Williard asked naively.
"I spend a part of the day before it," she confessed.
"But money is not everything. It is quite possible that these men loved you for your own sake."
"Loved for one's own sake," mused the girl. "Yes, that is how I would have it. But how in the world is a rich girl going to tell? I am superstitious. For three or four years I have been carrying this little amulet," she said, holding out for his inspection a silver, thimble-like trinket. "It represents St. Joseph, the patron saint of spinsters. An old French nurse gave it to me, and said that if I offered prayers to St. Joseph I should some day find the man I loved and who loved me. I do not want to be a spinster."
"That is a graceful sentiment."
"Not wanting to be a spinster?"
"Oh, that is not only graceful but commendable," smiling. Then he added gravely: "Have your prayers been answered?"
"Yes."
Silence.