Stuart paused and laid his hand gently on the girl's white round arm, and she turned with a start.
"I didn't hear your last sentence, Jim——"
"Of what were you thinking?"
"Of what a woman is always thinking. Consciously or unconsciously, of my home—whether it shall be a hovel or a palace."
"It all depends on whether Love is the builder——"
"It all depends on the man I marry," was the laughing answer. "I've always dreamed of you as a man of wealth and power. Your splendid talents mean this. When you came to New York I was more sure of you than ever. You've simply got to make money, Jim! Nothing else counts in the world to-day. I hate poverty—I fear it—I loathe it! Money is the badge of success, the symbol of power. Nothing else counts."
"And yet," the lover said, drawing closer, "I hold the touch of your little finger of greater value than all the gold on the earth or beneath it."
"Don't interrupt me, please, with irrelevant remarks," Nan cried, laughing in spite of herself. "Seriously, Jim—you must listen to me. I'm in dead earnest. There's no virtue in riding behind a donkey if you can own a carriage. There can be no virtue in shivering in a thin dress if you can wear furs. Even the saints all dream of a Heaven with streets of gold, chariots to ride in, and gleaming banquet halls! I'm just a practical saint, Jim. I want mine here and now. You must have money, if for no other reason, because I wish it!"
"Even if I enter a career of crime with Bivens as my master?"
"Come! Mr. Bivens is a devout member of the church. And you know that he's in dead earnest——"