“Well,” said Corole, “if I were a millionaire I should give you both the money to work to your heart’s content.”
“Indeed.” Dr. Letheny spoke so satirically that I feared an outburst from our hostess, whose temper was never of the best.
But she surprised me.
“No!” she retracted with disarming frankness. From habit Corole could lie like a trooper, but when she was inclined toward truth-telling she was quite candidly honest. “No,” she went on, “if I had a million dollars I should spend it—oh, how I should spend it! Silks and furs and jewels and servants and cars and cities and——”
“By that time it would be gone,” observed Dr. Letheny drily.
“Maybe,” Corole laughed huskily. “But how gloriously gone.”
“I suppose,” began Fred Hajek, with a little of the awkwardness that assails one who has remained silent a long time while others of the group are talking, “I suppose that idea is a sort of unacknowledged fairy dream hidden in everyone’s mind.”
“Of course.” Dr. Letheny’s voice grated to my ears. “Everybody wants money. Usually for reasons such as Corole has so charmingly admitted.”
“Not always,” disagreed Gainsay. “You and—er—Dr. Balman have just agreed that you both needed it for research.”
“A selfish reason, though,” replied Dr. Letheny. “We get the same pleasurable reaction out of study and science that Corole does out of clothes and jewels and—cream in general. Miss Keate, over there,” he nodded toward me, “gets the same kick out of hard work and a smooth-running hospital routine. Only her—demands——are not so expensive.”