Mrs. Gerrard Pennington, in a similar garb, leaned an elbow on her desk, a dainty French trifle, and gazed, perhaps a bit wistfully, at Margaret Elizabeth’s endearing young charms.  “I am delighted that you like Augustus.  He is a young man of sterling qualities.  His mother and I were warm friends; I take a deep interest in him.  Of course he is not showy; perhaps he might be called a little slow; but he is substantial, and while I should be the last to place an undue emphasis upon wealth, one need not overlook its advantages.  Augustus has had unusual opportunities.”

“Is Mr. McAllister rich?” Margaret Elizabeth dropped her arms in a surprise which in its turn stirred a like emotion in her aunt’s breast, for Miss Bentley put rather a peculiar emphasis, it would seem, upon the word rich.  “I should never have guessed it,” she added.

If Mrs. Pennington had been perfectly honest with herself, she would have perceived that her own surprise indicated a suspicion that minus his wealth the aforesaid sterling qualities were something of a dead weight, but not for worlds would she have owned this.  It would be a great thing for Margaret Elizabeth, if she liked him.  If she could be the means of establishing dear old Richard’s child in a position such as the future Mrs. Augustus would occupy, she would feel she had done her full duty.  Mrs. Pennington was strong in the matter of duty.

“I should never have guessed it,” Margaret Elizabeth repeated, after a minute spent in a quick review of that talk in the summer house.

“It is not always possible, surely, to gauge a person’s bank account in the course of one conversation,” her aunt suggested.

“I don’t mean that; but don’t you think, Aunt Eleanor, you can usually tell very rich people?  They are apt to be limited, in a way.  Not always, of course, but often.  I can’t explain it exactly.  Perhaps it is over-refined.”

“If to be refined is to be limited, I prefer to be limited,” Mrs. Pennington remarked.

It was plain that unless Margaret Elizabeth went to the length of retailing the whole of that Sunday morning conversation, which was out of the question, she could not hope to make her meaning clear.

“What surprises me,” her aunt went on, “is that you should have met Augustus in a public park.  It is very unlike him.  I wonder what he thought of you?”

This brought out Miss Bentley’s dimples, as she owned he had seemed not displeased to meet her.  “I explained that I was waiting for Dr. Prue, who had gone in to see one of the superintendent’s children.”  She further assured her aunt that River Bend Park was a delightful place in which to enjoy nature, on Sunday morning or any other time.

“I confess I do not choose a public park when I wish to enjoy nature—­except for driving, of course.  Perhaps,” added Mrs. Pennington, “that is what you call over-refined.”

Margaret Elizabeth considered this thoughtfully.  “Perhaps it is,” she said.  “Not being able to enjoy things that are free to everybody.”