"David's money—tempt me?" Her astonishment was genuine. "Why should it?"
Varick did not pursue the question. Again he laid his hand on hers, and again she let it lie there.
"Some day you'll understand," he said quietly; "you'll see, too, that neither has your money made any difference with me."
Bab's voice at this broke again She knew now, she protested, that it hadn't. It made Varick smile whimsically to hear her.
"And you don't think me dreadful?" she pleaded.
"Dreadful?" He laughed. "Of course not!"
"You said you'd help me. Bayard, what am I to do?"
Varick was still smiling. In the smile, though, was now nothing whimsical.
"I don't know, Bab."