“Mama let me choose the furniture for this room, and I wasn’t thinking much about your sex at the time. I--I think it expressed a side of me that I wasn’t conscious of then.” “It’s a pretty room all right.” Mark lit the consolatory cigarette. “But not to sit in. What struck you tonight?” “Oh, I’d been thinking of Paris.” Mark’s face was large and round and bland; it was only when he drew his brows together that one saw how small and sharp his eyes were. “H’m. I’ve wondered sometimes if you weren’t hankering after Europe. I suppose it gets into the blood.” “Oh, yes, it gets into the blood!” Ora spoke lightly, but she was astonished at his insight. “I’ve never been able to send you--not as you were used to going--I don’t see you doing anything on the cheap----” “Oh, my dear Mark, you are goodness itself. I’ve thought very little about it, really.” “Suppose you found yourself suddenly rich, would you light out and leave me?” “We’d go together. It would be great fun being your cicerone.” “No chance! I’m going to be a rich man inside the next ten years, and here I stick. And I don’t see myself travelling on a woman’s money, either. But I suppose you’d be like all the rest if you could afford it?” “Oh, I don’t know. Of course I look forward to spending a year in Europe once more--I’d hardly be human if I didn’t. But I can wait for you.” “I’ve always admired your philosophy,” he said grimly. “And now I’ve got a chance to put it to a real test. I believe you are in a way, if not to be rich, at least to make a pretty good haul.” “What do you mean?” Ora sat up straight.