"That’s all right, my dear, but when a man has three millions invested in government bonds, he does not have to spend all of his life in the country. Your last deal brought you three millions, I believe the papers said?" Never before had the general discussed a friend’s private affairs with such sylvan frankness and interest, with such complete unconsciousness of his own rudeness, but the youth who had risen one night from the obscurity of New York’s multitude to a position of importance in the greatest money market in the world appeared to the general in the light of a public character, and as he would have discussed aviation with the Wright brothers, the North Pole with Peary, so now he discussed money with the Watermelon. "Three, ten," chuckled the Watermelon. "Ah, yes," sighed the general. Money is power and every man wants power. The general was old, without the time, training or opportunity to make money, while this long-legged youth with the ridiculous woman’s eyes, sat on the back seat and babbled lightly of millions as the general could hardly do of thousands. "Ah, yes, three millions. Have you ever lived in the country?" "Oh, off and on," said the Watermelon. "I suppose you are fond of it or you wouldn’t come up here every Sunday," went on the general, missing the wall on the right by a fraction of an inch. "Do you care for fishing?" "If the bites ain’t too plentiful." Henrietta laughed. "You can’t do it, Mr. Batchelor," said she. "Do what?" asked the Watermelon, leaning forward. The Watermelon never lacked self-assurance under any circumstances, and before a pretty girl it merely grew in adverse ratio to the girl’s years and in direct ratio to her good looks. Henrietta was not pretty, but she had charm and grace and good breeding, and a combination of the three sometimes equals prettiness. "Make us believe that you are as lazy as you are trying to." "If I can’t do it, I won’t try," laughed the Watermelon. "But you can’t do it, either." "Do what?" "Make me believe that you are the general’s daughter," returned the Watermelon, letting his voice fall, gently and softly. The general was busy at that moment preventing the car from climbing a tree and trying to decide between Maine and Virginia as the best place for the Watermelon to invest in his country estate. Personally, he preferred Maine in summer and Virginia in winter. Was it therefore preferable to roast in summer and be comfortable in winter, or to freeze in winter and enjoy yourself in summer? "Don’t I look like him?" asked Henrietta, wishing that she had not made the conversation quite so personal thus early in their acquaintance. "You look like him," admitted the Watermelon, "but—"