He scanned the morning paper at the breakfast table, looking carefully over the financial news and rate of exchange.
“We are sailing into prosperous times,” said he to Julie. He was an optimist, like all good American millionaires. Julie had no opinion, she smiled.
As Dr. McClaren predicted, her religious mania passed off—she was now deeply interested in Art, a patroness of the Museum, and much sought after by budding talent. Floyd encouraged this “mania”; it was harmless. There was a busy day before him, a big deal to close; he was in a hurry to get to his office. She went with him to the door. He looked up at the imposing staircase and beautiful Tiffany glass window. He hated it once; how could he have been so prejudiced? It was all in the very best of taste, Julie was perfectly framed in it.
“I’ll meet you at the Museum about five o’clock; we’ll drive around for an hour. I forgot to tell you, I’ve invited some men to dinner; it’s business. Do you mind?”
Julie smiled again.
“Oh, no!”
With a sudden impulse he took her hand.
“Are you happy, Julie?”
She looked at him; what made him ask that?