If he is a criminal, let him say he is a criminal, and not pretend to be virtuous--if he is an atheist, let him say he is an atheist, and not pretend to be religious--if he's a beggar and can't help himself, let him admit the fact--if he's a millionaire, don't let him skulk round pretending he's as poor as Job--always let him be himself and no other!--eh ?--what is it, David ?" For Helmsley was looking at him intently with eyes that were almost young in their sudden animation and brilliancy.
"Did you ever meet a millionaire who skulked round pretending he was as poor as Job ?" he enquired, with a whimsical air--"_I_ never did!" "Well no, I never did, either!" And Reay's mellow laughter was so loud and long that Mary was quite infected by it, and laughed with him--"But you see millionaires are all marked men.

Everybody knows them.

Their portraits are in all the newspapers--horrid-looking rascals most of them!--Nature doesn't seem to endow them with handsome features anyway.
'Keep your gold, and never mind your face,'-- she seems to say--'_I'll_ take care of that!' And she does take care of it! O Lord! The only millionaire I ever saw in my life was ugly enough to frighten a baby into convulsions!" "What was his name ?" asked Helmsley.
"Well, it wouldn't be fair to tell his name now, after what I've said!" laughed Reay--"Besides, he lives in America, thank God! He's one of the few who have spared the old country his patronage!" Here a diversion was created by the necessity of serving the tiny but autocratic Charlie with his usual "dish of cream," of which he partook on Mary's knee, while listening (as was evident from the attentive cocking of his silky ears) to the various compliments he was accustomed to receive on his beauty.

This business over, they rose from the tea-table.

The afternoon had darkened into twilight, and the autumnal wind was sighing through the crannies of the door.