Octavia rippled out a laugh, and then became properly grave.

“De mortuis nil, auntie—­not even the rest of it.  The dear old colonel—­what a gold brick he was, after all!  I paid for my bargain fairly—­I’m all here, am I not?—­items:  eyes, fingers, toes, youth, old family, unquestionable position in society as called for in the contract—­no wild-cat stock here.”  Octavia picked up the morning paper from the floor.  “But I’m not going to ’squeal’—­isn’t that what they call it when you rail at Fortune because you’ve, lost the game?” She turned the pages of the paper calmly. “’Stock market’—­no use for that.  ’Society’s doings’—­that’s done.  Here is my page—­the wish column.  A Van Dresser could not be said to ‘want’ for anything, of course.  ‘Chamber-maids, cooks, canvassers, stenographers—­’”

“Dear,” said Aunt Ellen, with a little tremor in her voice, “please do not talk in that way.  Even if your affairs are in so unfortunate a condition, there is my three thousand—­”

Octavia sprang up lithely, and deposited a smart kiss on the delicate cheek of the prim little elderly maid.

“Blessed auntie, your three thousand is just sufficient to insure your Hyson to be free from willow leaves and keep the Persian in sterilized cream.  I know I’d be welcome, but I prefer to strike bottom like Beelzebub rather than hang around like the Peri listening to the music from the side entrance.  I’m going to earn my own living.  There’s nothing else to do.  I’m a—­Oh, oh, oh!—­I had forgotten.  There’s one thing saved from the wreck.  It’s a corral—­no, a ranch in—­let me see—­Texas:  an asset, dear old Mr. Bannister called it.  How pleased he was to show me something he could describe as unencumbered!  I’ve a description of it among those stupid papers he made me bring away with me from his office.  I’ll try to find it.”

Octavia found her shopping-bag, and drew from it a long envelope filled with typewritten documents.

“A ranch in Texas,” sighed Aunt Ellen.  “It sounds to me more like a liability than an asset.  Those are the places where the centipedes are found, and cowboys, and fandangos.”

“‘The Rancho de las Sombras,’” read Octavia from a sheet of violently purple typewriting, “’is situated one hundred and ten miles southeast of San Antonio, and thirty-eight miles from its nearest railroad station, Nopal, on the I. and G. N. Ranch, consists of 7,680 acres of well-watered land, with title conferred by State patents, and twenty-two sections, or 14,080 acres, partly under yearly running lease and partly bought under State’s twenty-year-purchase act.  Eight thousand graded merino sheep, with the necessary equipment of horses, vehicles and general ranch paraphernalia.  Ranch-house built of brick, with six rooms comfortably furnished according to the requirements of the climate.  All within a strong barbed-wire fence.

“’The present ranch manager seems to be competent and reliable, and is rapidly placing upon a paying basis a business that, in other hands, had been allowed to suffer from neglect and misconduct.