" CHAPTER V. ” “And if you are a millionaire like Drummond,” someone remarked, “you send round a note and ask her to come out to supper. Then she sang. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. She could not move. ” “I care as a man cares only once in his life,” he answered promptly. Await me in the coach.
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