Nor was
Peter's interest of the right kind. It was not what Peter senior
called practical.
Ena, now! There was a girl to be proud of. Father was so proud that
pride of his splendid daughter had frozen out or covered with ashes
the glow which used to fill his heart at the thought of her. But pride
was the right thing! That was what he had worked for: to make of his
children a man and woman to be proud of when the top stone was on his
pile.
Ena was _more_ than a lady. She was an orchid, a princess. She ruled
father with her little finger--a beautifully manicured, rose-and-white
finger, such as he had hardly seen when he was young. There was so
much of himself in Ena that Peter yielded to her mandates as to the
inarticulate cry of his own soul translated into words. The princess
in whose veins his blood ran must understand what he ought to want
better than he himself could understand.
She said: What was the fun of having money if you couldn't know all
the best people everywhere, and be of them as well as merely among
them? She began saying this even before she came home "for good" from
school. It was a school for millionaires' daughters, and the daughters
of other millionaires had showed her the difference between her father
and theirs, oil magnates and steel and railway magnates, and magnates
who magnated on their ancestors' fortunes made in land or skins of
animals.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172