“Rubbish, did you say? Verily, I, that was poor, am rich!”
She threw the chain about her neck and ran it through her fingers hurriedly; then she brushed the white hair from Rodney Merriam’s forehead and kissed him.
Zelda
“You dear: you delicious old dear! I know you hate to be thanked—”
“But I can stand being kissed. Put those things away now; and don’t forget to take care of them. You can give them to your granddaughter on her wedding day.”
“I can’t imagine doing anything so foolish. I can see myself cutting her off without a pearl.”
The suggestion of poverty carried an irony to the mind of both. Her father was a rascal, who had swindled her out of practically all of her fortune. He was a lying hypocrite, Merriam said to himself; and here was his daughter as calm and cheerful as though there were no such thing as unhappiness in the world. His admiration and affection rose to high tide as he played with the pipe that lay by his hand on the table.
“Smoke it if you like,” said Zelda. “This curse of habit, how it does take hold of a man! But a man who gives pearls away in bunches,—well, he may make a smoke-house of his castle if he likes.”
“The smoke-house suggestion isn’t pleasant, my child. Pearls are spoken of usually as being cast before animals whose ultimate destination is the smoke-house. Please be careful of your language.”