"Just so! Miss Juliet will certainly be one of those who will sigh: `Woe's me!' at our future merry meeting," cried the tall man with the hawklike features, "and it's rough on her, too, for she's so touchingly modest in her desire. Doesn't care a pin apparently whether she comes out better or worse! Now, for my own part, that's all I do care for. Success! Success! that's my mania: forging ahead, gaining on my opponents, winning the lead. Adventure doesn't count. I'd sit at an office desk for fourteen hours out of the twenty-four, for fourteen years at a stretch, if it ensured success at the end--a big success, a success which left me head and shoulders above the ruck. I'd walk the world barefooted from one end to the other to gain a secret that was worth while. Success is my god. To gain it I would sacrifice everything else." "Then, of a certainty, it can be yours," said Mrs Ingram quietly, and she looked at him with such a gentle glance that he asked her a laughing question: "Are you going to call me `poor child!' too?" "Not yet," she said quietly. Then she turned to the big man, and laid a hand on his arm. "You next, Frank?" "Oh, well!" he laughed good-humouredly yet with a tinge of embarrassment. "I didn't bargain for this confession business, but since it's the rule, I must follow suit, I suppose. I'm a commonplace beggar! I'm pretty well content with things as they come. I'm not keen on any adventures that I know of; if I can have enough to be comfortable, that's all I want. I'd like a nice wife, and a house with a bit of garden; and a youngster or two, and a runabout car, don't you know, and the usual accessories! That's about all I fancy. `Man wants but little here below.'" "Frank plumps for comfort," said Mrs Ingram, smiling. "His programme sounds distinctly restful, for a change. Take care of your figure, Frank! I should suggest mowing the garden as a helpful recreation. Next, please! Claudia!" "Oh, money, please!" cried Claudia eagerly. "_Lots_ of money, and a safe full of jewels. Do you know, I dress on forty pounds a year all told, and a rich cousin sends me cast-offs! I take them hungrily, but I hate her for it, and when I'm a millionaire I'll cut her dead. A German Jew stock-broker, dear, or a Maharajah of `something-core,' or a soap-boiler without h's--anyone will do if he has enough money! I'd rather not, of course, but it's the only way! Dear people, will you _all_ come to my wedding?" "Claudia, you are impossible! You ought to be ashamed!" "Yes, I should, but I'm not! Isn't it horrid of me? If I blow _very_ loudly, do you think I shall go off this season?" "Claudia speaks in her usual highly coloured fashion, but there's no doubt about her aim. She wants money, and, incidentally, all that it can buy.--Adventure. Success. Comfort. Money. We are getting plenty of variety! Rupert, what are you going to give us?"