"Not for you, John. But I sometimes think," she went on slowly after a while, "that I'm not entitled to so much as we have, when others have so little--the same sort of people that we once were. I don't understand it. I don't see where we _earned_ it. Why, back there where we came from, life is very likely just as hard as it ever was." "Haven't _earned_ it!" gasped John Rawn--"I haven't _earned_ it? Well, listen at that, to my face! Well, I'd like to ask you, Laura, if I haven't earned this, what man ever _did_ earn his money?" "Don't take me wrong, John dear. I was just wondering how anybody could ever earn so much." "Well, don't get the habit of wondering." "I like my things," said she softly, gazing about her. "I've always wanted nice things, of course. I never thought we'd have a place like this. Then the trees, and the lake--why, it's like fairyland to me!" IV But Rawn turned a discontented face around at the ill-assorted furnishings of Graystone Hall--as he had named his quasi-country place. As in the case of the architect, the house decorator and furnisher had had full license, and each had done his worst. "Somehow these things don't seem just the way they are down at the club!" he grumbled. "I've been at other houses along in here, once in a while, and somehow our things don't seem just like theirs. It's not my fault. Surely you must see how busy I am all the time--I've not got the time to take care of household matters, too." He got up and took a turn or so about, gazing with dissatisfaction at his household goods. "They tell me that J. Pierpont Morgan picks up what they call collector's pieces. I've heard that lots of the big men have in their houses these collector's pieces. We've got to have some of them here. It won't do to have them say of us that we're anything back of Morgan or anybody else. If they think that of me, they don't know John Rawn." "Dinner is served, Mrs. Rawn," said a low voice at the farther side of the room. The butler stood respectful, at attention. "_Mrs._ Rawn!" grumbled the master of the place. "I'll train him different! Why don't he tell _me_?" They passed into the wide dining-room, the butler now silently drawing together the double curtains which covered the windows fronting the lake. Rawn seated himself frowningly at the table, with the customary grumbling comment which he used to conceal his own lack of ease. In truth, he had never yet enjoyed a meal in his great house, and would at this moment have been far more comfortable in his shirt sleeves at the little table in Kelly Row, with the nearest butler a thousand miles away for all of him. The presence of this shaven, priest-like personage behind him always sent a chill up his spine. He half jumped now as that icy individual coughed at his side, poured a little wine into his first glass, and passed on to Mrs. Rawn. Laura Rawn declined, as was her custom, and the butler turned to fill his master's glass.