_Ventnor_. When our emotions weren’t worth ten cents a word, and a signature wasn’t an autograph. Ah, Helen, after all, there’s nothing like the exhilaration of spending one’s capital! _Mrs. Dale_. Of wasting it, you mean. _(She points to the letters.)_ Do you suppose we could have written a word of these if we’d known we were putting our dreams out at interest? _(She sits musing, with her eyes on the fire, and he watches her in silence.)_ Paul, do you remember the deserted garden we sometimes used to walk in? _Ventnor_. The old garden with the high wall at the end of the village street? The garden with the ruined box-borders and the broken-down arbor? Why, I remember every weed in the paths and every patch of moss on the walls! _Mrs. Dale._ Well--I went back there the other day. The village is immensely improved. There’s a new hotel with gas-fires, and a trolley in the main street; and the garden has been turned into a public park, where excursionists sit on cast-iron benches admiring the statue of an Abolitionist. _Ventnor_. An Abolitionist--how appropriate! _Mrs. Dale_. And the man who sold the garden has made a fortune that he doesn’t know how to spend-- _Ventnor (rising impulsively)_. Helen, _(he approaches and lays his hand on her letters)_, let’s sacrifice our fortune and keep the excursionists out! _Mrs. Dale (with a responsive movement)_. Paul, do you really mean it? _Ventnor (gayly)_. Mean it? Why, I feel like a landed proprietor already! It’s more than a garden--it’s a park. _Mrs. Dale_. It’s more than a park, it’s a world--as long as we keep it to ourselves! _Ventnor_. Ah, yes--even the pyramids look small when one sees a Cook’s tourist on top of them! _(He takes the key from the table, unlocks the cabinet and brings out his letters, which he lays beside hers.)_ Shall we burn the key to our garden? _Mrs. Dale_. Ah, then it will indeed be boundless! _(Watching him while he throws the letters into the fire.)_ _Ventnor (turning back to her with a half-sad smile)_. But not too big for us to find each other in? _Mrs. Dale_. Since we shall be the only people there! _(He takes both her hands and they look at each other a moment in silence. Then he goes out by the door to the right. As he reaches the door she takes a step toward him, impulsively; then turning back she leans against the chimney-piece, quietly watching the letters burn.)_ THE REMBRANDT “You’re _so_ artistic,” my cousin Eleanor Copt began.