"
She nodded assent, and they departed hastily lest some of the others
should volunteer their company. It took but a short time to reach the
pond. They found a log close to the water's edge, and, taking a seat
there, tossed morsels to the birds and chattered to each other.
"Look," said Barrow suddenly; "that's us ten years from now."
A carriage passed slowly, a solemn, liveried coachman on the box, a
handsome, smooth-shaven man of thirty-five and a richly gowned woman
leaning back and looking out over the pond with bored eyes. And that
last, the half-cynical, half-contemptuous expression on the two faces,
impressed Hazel Weir far more than the showy equipage, the outward
manifestation of wealth.
"I hope not," she returned impulsively.
"Hope not!" Barrow echoed. "Those people are worth a barrel of money.
Wouldn't you like your own carriage, and servants, and income enough to
have everything you wanted?"
"Of course," Hazel answered. "But they don't look as if they really
enjoyed it."
"Fiddlesticks!" Barrow smilingly retorted. "Everybody enjoys luxury."
"Well, one should," Hazel admitted. But she still held to the
impression that the couple passing got no such pleasure out of their
material possessions as Jack seemed to think.
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