“If I were a man, I should enjoy the power you have, the ability to do what you will.”

“I suppose I do.  That is all there is.  I like to conquer obstacles, and I like to command.  And money; I never did care for money in itself.  But there is a fascination in building up a great fortune.  It is like conducting a political or a military campaign.  Now, I haven’t much interest in anything else.”

As he spoke he looked round upon the crowded shelves of his library, and, getting up, went to the corner where there was a shelf of rare editions and took down a volume.

“Do you remember when I got this, Carmen?  It was when I was a bachelor.  It was rare then.  I saw it quoted the other day as worth twice the price I gave for it.”

He replaced it carefully, and walked along the shelves looking at the familiar titles.

“I used to read then.  And you read still; you have time.”

“Not those books,” she replied, with a laugh.  “Those belong to the last generation.”

“That is where I belong,” he said, smiling also.  “I don’t think I have read a book, not really read it, in ten years.  This modern stuff that pretends to give life is so much less exciting than my own daily experience that I cannot get interested in it.  Perhaps I could read these calm old books.”

“It is the newspapers that take your time,” Carmen suggested.

“Yes, they pass the time when I am thinking.  And they are full of suggestions.  I suppose they are as accurate about other things as about me.  I used to think I would make this library the choicest in the city.  It is good as far as it goes.  Perhaps I will take it up some day—­if I live.”  And he turned away from the shelves and sat down.  Carmen had never seen him exactly in this humor and was almost subdued by it.

He began to talk again, philosophizing about life generally and his own life.  He seemed to like to recall his career, and finally said:  “Uncle Jerry is successful too, and he never did care for anything else—­except his family.  There is a clerk in my office on five thousand a year who is never without a book when he comes to the office and when I see him on the train.  He has a wife and a nice little family in Jersey.  I ask him sometimes about his reading.  He is collecting a library, but not of rare books; says he cannot afford that.  I think he is successful too, or will be if he never gets more than five thousand a year, and is content with his books and his little daily life, coming and going to his family.  Ah, well!  Everybody must live his life.  I suppose there is some explanation of it all.”

“Has anything gone wrong?” asked Carmen, anxiously.

“No, not at all.  Nothing to interfere with the house of gold.”  He spoke quite gently and sincerely.  “I don’t know what set me into this moralizing.  Let’s look at the plans.”

The next day—­it was the first of June—­in consultation with the architect, a project was broached that involved such an addition of cost that Carmen hesitated.  She declared that it was a question of ways and means, and that she must consult the chairman.  Accordingly she called her carriage and drove down to Henderson’s office.