"Hard work--yes," she answered quietly. "I should think that very hard work if I had to do it. But I don't think it is exactly the kind of work a self-respecting man should do." Looking him straight in the face, she added: "At least, not the kind of man I would care to know----"

Tod shuffled his feet as if ill at ease. Under the scrutiny of her calm gaze he seemed to lose some of his self-a.s.surance.

"You're dead right!" he stammered nervously. "But what can a fellow do?

When one's in a certain set, one has to live as everyone else does."

Summoning up courage, he demanded boldly: "If you lived in New York and knew everybody, wouldn't you like to have a jolly good time?"

She shook her head.

"I should live as I want to live," she answered calmly. "My happiness would consist in making others happy. If I were rich, I would go among the poor and try to lighten the burdens of those less fortunate than I."

He laughed scornfully.

"Oh, you're one of those freak suffragettes--a socialist!"

She smiled as she replied:

"I am a Christian--a socialist if you will." There was an amused expression on her face as she asked: "What do you know of socialism?"

"Oh, it's a lot of rot," he retorted. "We see 'em in New York--lazy, wild-eyed guys with dirty faces and long hair, blowing off hot air on Union Square, organizing strikes, throwing bombs, and raising Cain generally. They're usually b.u.ms out of a job. As long as they've no money they're rabid socialists; directly they make a little money, they become capitalists. They're fakirs, all right!"

Paula shook her head. Gravely she said:

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea altogether. Socialism is beautiful. It is the one thing that will save mankind from decadence and gradual extinction. I am a socialist because I am a Christian.

Christ loved the poor and the lowly. I try to follow in His footsteps."

Tod looked at her in amazement. The kind of girls he was accustomed to a.s.sociate with talked quite differently. Unconsciously his manner grew more respectful.

"So you're sailing on the _Touraine_! Say, isn't that a queer coincidence? Awfully nice, though. I'll see you on board, won't I?

That'll be jolly." He stopped and hesitated. Then looking at her sheepishly, he said with a grin: "Now, I've told you my name, may I know yours? Rather informal introduction, what?"

Paula hesitated. Was it altogether proper to talk to a stranger in this way? But he seemed such a nice, ingenuous young man. Surely there could be no great harm in it. Before, however, she could reply, her ears caught the sound of approaching footsteps, and at the same instant she heard the big church clock outside striking the half hour. It was Mr.

Ricaby returning to take her to lunch. In another moment the lawyer appeared. As he came up he stopped short, as if surprised to find her conversing with a total stranger. Puzzled, he stared from one to the other. Paula quickly explained:

"I had a little mishap. I fell from the stool and this gentleman very kindly came to my a.s.sistance." Introducing the two men, she said: "Mr.

Leon Ricaby--Mr. Todhunter Chase."

Tod nodded and Mr. Ricaby bowed stiffly. Feeling that he was now in the way, the younger man turned to go. Removing his hat, he asked again:

"Since we're to be fellow pa.s.sengers on the _Touraine_, may I not have the pleasure of knowing the name of the lady to whom I was able to be of some a.s.sistance?"

Mr. Ricaby frowned disapproval, but Paula, now safely chaperoned, hesitated no longer. Promptly she said:

"My name is Paula Marsh."

Tod could not suppress a start of surprise.

"Marsh!" he echoed. "By Jove! that's another odd coincidence! My stepfather's name is Marsh--Mr. James Marsh, of West Seventy-second Street."

It was now Mr. Ricaby's turn to be astonished.

"Then you are----?" he cried.

"I'm Tod Chase. My mother married Jimmy Marsh. I'm going back home to take part in a family jollification. You know his brother just died, and Jimmy has come in for a windfall."

Paula, who was busy packing her things, had not heard, but Mr. Ricaby quickly gave the young man a significant nudge.

"Hush!" he said. "You're speaking of her father!"

Tod gave a gasp.

"Her father!" he exclaimed.

"Yes--her father," said the lawyer quietly. "John Marsh married her mother--a Frenchwoman--twenty-two years ago. He kept the marriage secret."

Tod gave vent to a low but expressive whistle.

"Then his money----?" he gasped.

"Goes to his daughter, of course," answered the lawyer, with studied calmness.

"But the will----" exclaimed the other. "The will which Bascom Cooley, Jimmy's lawyer, has had in his possession all these years----?"

"Absolutely valueless," replied Mr. Ricaby coolly. "Before he died John Marsh made a new will. I have it safe in my own keeping. We are going to New York to offer it for probate."

This sudden and unexpected revelation was too much for Tod. Rendered speechless, he just stared at the lawyer. Mr. Ricaby continued amiably:

"We sail Sat.u.r.day. I understand that you are going on the same boat. I'm very glad to have met you, Mr. Chase. It is likely that we shall see a good deal of each other in New York. Miss Marsh and I are just going out to get a bite of lunch. Won't you join us?"

The young man stammered his thanks.

"With pleasure--I----"

Paula went out with Mr. Ricaby close behind. As Tod followed he again whistled to himself significantly:

"Well, I'm d----d! What will Jimmy say to this?"

CHAPTER V.

The cablegram from Paris had effected a startling transformation in Jimmy Marsh. He was a changed man. No longer the cringing, furtive-eyed bankrupt, ever dodging his creditors, he arose masterfully to the new situation created by the sudden turn in his fortunes. From the hopeless depths of moral and financial ruin the news of his brother's death suddenly raised him to the dollar-marked heights of social prestige and great wealth. At last his long years of waiting were rewarded. John was dead! He was the possessor of millions! All the sweets and power which gold can buy were now his! It seemed too good to be true, and he pinched himself to make sure that it was not all a dream. The excitement and nervous strain proved more than he could bear. Locked in his own room he laughed hysterically and wept aloud--tears of grat.i.tude and joy. His brother was dead! Now, for the first time he could begin to live. He was only fifty. He might still enjoy twenty years more.

The news rushed through the town like a Kansas cyclone. It was the one topic of conversation in clubs, brokers' offices, theatre lobbies, barrooms, and hotel corridors. Jimmy Marsh a millionaire, a power in Wall Street, a personage to be reckoned with! It sounded funny, yet there it was. Men suddenly remembered that Jimmy was not such a bad sort after all, and all day long Mrs. Marsh was kept busy at the telephone answering calls from officious acquaintances who suddenly became very friendly and interested.

Recognizing the propriety of not exhibiting too much joy in public and having little sense of proportion, Jimmy went to the other extreme in his anxiety to observe the conventions. He rushed into violent mourning, and, not content with attiring himself and wife in sombre hue, even to the ridiculous extent of having black borders on his handkerchiefs which he used conspicuously on every possible occasion, he gave peremptory orders that everyone in his household, his chauffeur, his footman, his cook and maids should all be decked in c.r.a.pe. The blinds of the West Seventy-second Street home were tightly drawn and the servants instructed to walk on tiptoe and talk in whispers as in a house of death. Pictures and statuary were covered with black drapery, and a large oil-painting of John Marsh, conspicuous over the mantelpiece in the reception room was likewise covered with c.r.a.pe. These certain outward signs comforted Jimmy. Every day and every hour they convinced him that the death of his brother was not a chimera of his disordered brain, but something very real indeed. This sensation, this a.s.surance he needed to complete his happiness.