“And disgustingly rich. In short, she’d be intolerable if she wasn’t herself. What an enviable lot! All the B’s—Beauty, Bullion, Blue Blood, and Brilliancy. No wonder she’s light-hearted! They say she had an eccentric dad, which accounts for her—a man who wasted one of his fortunes on socialistic experiments! But she knows better than that. Eccentricity in the parent is epigram in the child.”
“Which is an epigram,” said Matthew, laughing, and considerably relieved by this outburst on his cousin’s part. “But your parents were not eccentric.”
“Indeed? Don’t you see any eccentricity in the poor old governor’s trying to make an artist out of me?”
“Where is that portrait?” asked Matthew, amused.
“Here it is, you duffer, staring you in the face on the easel all the time. Don’t say you didn’t recognize it. Please don’t.”
“Now that I know who it is,” began Matthew, laughing.
“It is ghastly, old man, isn’t it? But that girl distracts me with her talk.”
“What made you attempt it?” asked Matthew, candidly.
“I wanted to hear her talk.”
“Whom?”