“You have the time, at your age, and I can give you all the money you need,” he went on earnestly. “To-morrow Mr. Farson and I will talk the matter over with you and decide on what’s the best way to go about it.”
Louisiana threw back her head, as if to embrace the splendid vision opened before her. Still gazing at Brainard to see whether he really meant it all, or was perpetrating a cruel joke, she gave a long sigh. There was something pathetically wistful and desirous in her small face that stirred Brainard strongly. He seemed to be looking into a little starved soul that was trying to grasp the meaning of his promise.
“You don’t mean—”
She began and stopped. Her look wavered for one moment, as if an unpleasant idea had crossed her mind and made her doubt Brainard’s disinterestedness. Brainard understood the expression. Probably in her short experience of life she had met with little real generosity from men.
“I mean exactly what I said—and nothing more!” he added with meaning emphasis.
The girl’s face cleared with wonderful rapidity. Once more it had the eager, wistful expression of the child.
“My, but you are a good one!” she exclaimed at last, convinced of his earnestness and his singleness of purpose. “After all those fancy compliments I just passed you, too!”
“I guess we deserved a good part of what you said. Perhaps you’ll save the day for us again sometime—when you come back.”
“I sure hope I can! But not that way!” she blushed. “You mean it all—the study and travel? To go to Paris?”
“And London and Berlin and Vienna,” Brainard added with a smile. “And a lot of hard work, too, remember!”