Richard laughed softly.
“Well, Dido, I don’t want to spoil your dream, but that little man has a brain that is far out of proportion to his weak and dwarfed body. He stands at the head of his profession, and has accumulated wealth by his industry and ability. Quite a reproach to us worthless fellows, who were born with legs. I have a great admiration for him, but those people with him neither care for him for his ability or his affliction. They are not of that kind.”
“What then?” asked Dido, in distress.
“Money—money, child. It’s the story you could read at almost every table here. That’s why I don’t allow my imagination any liberty in restaurants. Your eyes have not yet tried the worldly glasses which experience has put on mine. And now, while we drink our coffee, let us talk about Maggie’s sister.”
A girl came through, trying to sell some badly assorted flowers, and a black and yellow bird in a cage, high above their heads, thrusts his long beak and head through the wires and, impudently twisting his head to see what was taking place below him, gave vent at intervals to a shrill, defiant cry.
Meanwhile, Richard lighted a cigarette and resumed the conversation.
“I think it is useless to hunt for Maggie’s sister any longer. We have made a pretty thorough search of the resorts where I thought we were likely to meet her. I confess I am disappointed. I was sure we would run across her somewhere, and that you would recognize her. Do you think it is possible for you not to recognize her?”
“No, indeed! I’d recognize Lucille Williams anywhere,” Dido replied, earnestly.
“My private opinion—don’t tell Maggie—is, that she tired of her family and home and that she took herself to better quarters and means to keep them in ignorance of her whereabouts, fearing they would ask her to give towards their support.”
“I hardly think Lucille was as heartless as that,” thoughtfully replied Dido. “She was vain and fond of dressing, but I don’t think she would be as mean as that.”