“Exceptional, just because she isn’t descended from some dead, old, useless stock,” amended Mrs. Carroll.  “There is red blood in her veins, ambition and effort and self-denial, all handed down to her.  But marry that pampered little girl to some young millionaire, Sue, and what will her children inherit?  And what will theirs, in time?—­ Peel these, will you?” went on Mrs. Carroll, interrupting her work to put a bowl of apples in Susan’s hands.  “No,” she went on presently, “I married a millionaire, Sue.  I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones!”

“I never knew it was as much as that!” Susan said impressed.

“Yes,” Mrs. Carroll laughed wholesomely at some memory.  “Yes; I began my married life in the very handsomest home in our little town with the prettiest presents and the most elaborate wardrobe—­the papers were full of Miss Josie van Trent’s extravagances.  I had four house servants, and when Anna came everybody in town knew that her little layette had come all the way from Paris!”

“But,—­good heavens, what happened?”

“Nothing, for awhile.  Mr. Carroll, who was very young, had inherited a half-interest in what was then the biggest shoe-factory in that part of the world.  My father was his partner.  Philip—­dear me! it seems like a lifetime ago!—­came to visit us, and I came home from an Eastern finishing school.  Sue, those were silly, happy, heavenly days!  Well! we were married, as I said.  Little Phil came, Anna came.  Still we went on spending money.  Phil and I took the children to Paris,—­Italy.  Then my father died, and things began to go badly at the works.  Phil discharged his foreman, borrowed money to tide over a bad winter, and said that he would be his own superintendent.  Of course he knew nothing about it.  We borrowed more money.  Jo was the baby then, and I remember one ugly episode was that the workmen, who wanted more money, accused Phil of getting his children’s clothes abroad because his wife didn’t think American things were good enough for them.”

“You!” Susan said, incredulously.

“It doesn’t sound like me now, does it?  Well; Phil put another foreman in, and he was a bad man—­in league with some rival factory, in fact.  Money was lost that way, contracts broken—–­”

“Beast!” said Susan.

“Wicked enough,” the other woman conceded, “but not at all an uncommon thing, Sue, where people don’t know their own business.  So we borrowed more money, borrowed enough for a last, desperate fight, and lost it.  The day that Jim was three years old, we signed the business away to the other people, and Phil took a position under them, in his own factory.”

“Oo-oo!” Susan winced.