"Well," said Fanny, seating herself at her desk, and smiling
radiantly upon her brother. "Well, what do you think of
us?"
And then Theodore Brandeis, the careless, the selfish, the
blind, said a most amazing thing.
"Fanny, I'll work. I'll soon get some of these millions
that are lying about everywhere in this country. And then
I'll take you out of this. I promise you."
Fanny stared at him, a picture of ludicrous astonishment.
"Why, you talk as if you were--sorry for me!"
"I am, dear. God knows I am. I'll make it up to you,
somehow."
It was the first time in all her dashing and successful
career that Fanny Brandeis had felt the sting of pity. She
resented it, hotly. And from Theodore, the groper, the--
"But at any rate," something within her said, "he has always
been true to himself."
Theodore's manager arrived in September, on a Holland boat,
on which he had been obliged to share a stuffy inside cabin
with three others. Kurt Stein was German born, but American
bred, and he had the American love of luxurious travel.
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