“Love! Love is well enough, but it does not, of itself, pay for proper clothes, or a proper establishment, or seats at the opera, or any of the practical, necessary things of modern life. You can’t keep up a presentable appearance on love! If I had a daughter who lacked the brains to understand what I had taught her, that is, her duty as a member of good society, and talked of making a love match, I would.... But there! You can’t understand, I suppose.”
She rose and shook the wrinkles from her gown. Captain Elisha straightened in his chair. “Why, yes, ma’am,” he drawled, quietly; “yes, ma’am, I guess I understand fust-rate.”
And suddenly Mrs. Dunn also understood. Her face, which had grown almost too red for one attached to a member of polite society, grew redder still. She turned away and walked to the window.
“What nonsense we’ve been talking!” she said, after a moment’s silence. “I don’t see what led us into this silly discussion. Malcolm and your niece must be having a delightful ride. I almost wish I had gone with them.”
She did wish it, devoutly. Captain Elisha still remained by the fire.
“Automobiles are great things for hustlin’ around in,” he observed. “Pity they’re such dangerous playthings. Yet I s’pose they’re one of the necessities of up-to-date folks, same as you said, Mrs. Dunn.”
“Surely,” she asked coldly, “you don’t condemn automobiles, Captain Warren? What would you—return to stage coaches?”
“Not a mite! But I was thinkin’ of that poor Moriarty man.”
“His death was due to an accident. And accidents,” she turned and looked directly at him, “when they involve financial damages, may be paid for.”
The captain nodded. “Yes,” he said.