her disposal. Gresham was only a part of the "unbelievable romance" as she had called it. He wasn't a fairy prince. He was, rather, a court jester—and she liked his cap and bells. Everyone tried to tell her of his importance, but she felt that if he had not had money people would have laughed at him, not with him. He was, it were, a pole on which to hang his posessions.
And here was Crispin without any possessions and needing none. His manhood was, as a matter of fact, worth all of Bobby Gresham's millions. She couldn't think of Bobby under the old oak in a streaming wind. Bobby did not fit into such backgrounds. With a sparkling sense of the fantastic, she saw Bobby caught up by the blast and blown away with coat-tails flying!
She re-read Crispin's letter. And sat down at her desk to answer it. She had plenty of time. She was to meet Sally and the others at Winslow's for tea. There was nothing on hand until then.
"Of course I remember that day. It was great fun. Sometimes I think that nothing I am doing here matches such moments. But it is a different Hildegarde who likes all this from the one you knew then, Crispin. Everybody here calls me "Carew's daughter." Does environment make such a difference. And if I were back would I be just as I used to be? Not knowing anything different or wanting it? I'll admit that I don't know. I am having a gorgeous time. And I love it. That's the truth, and the whole of it. I sometimes wonder what mother would think of me. Yet she knew when she sent me to father what I would find. I think she had faith to believe that my head
