Joan leaned against the trunk of the acacia and smiled at the clouds. A cataract of golden light poured through the delicate foliage, smiting the shadowy grass with green splendor, painting quivering fleur-de-lis upon the girl’s dark dress.
“Father,” she said, gently enough, “I often wonder what you live for.”
The man in the chair bit his pipe-stem and frowned.
“You do, do you!”
“I am young, you are old. What pleasures can you find in life?”
Zeus Gildersedge eyed her keenly under his drooping lids.
“What do most men live for?” he asked her.
“How should I know?” she answered him.
“Money, gold bags, beer, and bed. You will understand it all well enough some day.”
She looked at him with her large, gray eyes, calm and incredulous.