"Sidney," he said incoherently, "who--where--where did your father's money go--who got it?" She looked at him in utter bewilderment. "Where did WHAT--father's money? Who got it? Are you crazy, Barry?" she stammered. "Ah, Sidney, tell me! Did it come to you?" "Why--why--" She seemed suddenly to understand that there was some reason for the question, and answered quite readily: "It belonged to my father's first wife, Barry, most of it. And it went to her daughters, my step-sisters, they are older than I and both married--" "Then you're NOT worth eight million dollars?" "I--? Why, you know I'm not!" Her eyes were at their widest. "Who ever said I was? _I_ never said so!" "But everyone in town thinks so!" Barry's great sigh of relief came from his very soul. Sidney, pale before, grew very red. She freed her hands, and sat down. "Well, they are very silly, then!" she said, almost crossly. And as the thought expanded, she added, "But I don't see how anyone COULD! They must have thought my letting them help me out with the Flower Show and begging for the Old Paloma girls was a nice piece of affectation! If I had eight million dollars, or one million, don't you suppose I'd be DOING something, instead of puttering away with just the beginning of things!" The annoyed color deepened. "I hope you're mistaken, Barry," said she. "Why didn't you set them right?" "I! Why, I thought so too!" "Oh, Barry! What a hypocrite you must have thought me!" She buried her rosy face in her hand for a moment. Presently she rushed on, half indignantly, "--With all my talk about the sinfulness of American women, who persistently attempt a scheme of living that is far beyond their incomes! And talking of the needs of the poor all over the world, with all that money lying idle!" "I thought of it chiefly as an absolute and immovable barrier between us," Barry said honestly, "and that was as far as my thinking went." Her eyes met his with that curious courage she had when a difficult moment had to be faced. "There is a more serious barrier than that between us," she reminded him gravely. "Hetty!" he said stupidly. "But I TOLD you--" But he stopped short, realizing that he had not yet told her, and rather at a loss. "You didn't tell me anything," she said, eyeing him steadily. "Why," Barry's tone was much lower, "I meant to tell you first of all, but--you know what a day I have had! It seems impossible that I only left San Francisco this morning." He brought his chair from his own desk, and sat opposite her, and, while the summer twilight outside deepened into dusk, unmindful of time, he went over the pitiful little story. Sidney listened, her serious eyes never leaving his face, her fine hands locked idly before her. The telephone boy and the movers had gone now, and there was silence all about.