“I went, but I wish I hadn’t.  Billy didn’t want to go, and we came away as soon as we could.  Everybody asked about you.  I haven’t seen any one yet who doesn’t think it very strange that you won’t live with me.  That beautiful little Marie Antoinette suite on the third floor is all fixed for you, and you could use the automobiles as much as you choose.  It’s wicked and cruel in you to do like this and not live with me.  It looks so—­”

“Peculiar.”  I nodded in the eyes as blue as a baby’s.  “But a person who isn’t peculiar isn’t much of a person.  You see, I don’t care for things which are already fixed for me.  I like to do my own fixing.  And I don’t want to live in anybody else’s home, not even yours, though you are dear to want me.  I am grateful, but I prefer to live here.  My present income would make an undignified affair of life among the friends of other days.  I’d feel continually as if I were overboard and holding on to a slippery plank.  Down here I’m independent.  I have enough for my needs and something to give—.  That’s a good-looking hat you have on.  Did you get it in Paris?”

Kitty shook her head.  “New York.”  Otherwise she ignored my question.  Hats usually interested her.  She talked well concerning them, but to-day she would not be diverted from more insistent subjects.

“It must have cost a good deal to fix up this old house.  Anywhere else it would look very well.”  Her eyes were missing no detail.  “You’d make a pig-sty pretty, but it takes money—­”

“Everything takes money.  I sold two or three pieces of Aunt Matilda’s jewelry for enough to put the house in order.  She expected me to sell what I did not wish to keep.  In her will was a note to that effect.”

“She had more jewelry than any human being I ever saw.”  Into Kitty’s face came dawning understanding.  “It was the only way she could leave you any of—­”

“Your father’s money,” I nodded.  “Not until after her death did I understand why she used to take all of your father’s gifts in jewelry.  I know now.”

“It was a good investment.  I wish she’d bought twice as much.  She had so little else to leave you,” Kitty was looking at me speculatively.  “How on earth are you going to live on a thousand dollars a year?  Our servants cost us twice that.  Billy says it’s awful, but—­”

“It is if you can’t afford it.  You can.  I believe all people ought to spend every dollar they can afford, and not a cent they can’t.  That’s what I do.  Aunt Matilda thought I was impractical, but I’m fearfully prudent.  I live within my income and I’ve deposited with a trust company, so I can’t spend it, a sum of money quite large enough to care for me through a spell of illness in the greediest of hospitals, if I should be ill.  And if I should die I’m prepared for all expenses.  It’s a mistake to think I don’t look ahead.  I thought once of having a stone put up in the cemetery so as to be sure I had not forgotten anything, but I guess that can wait.”