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accompany me." He turned away then, his back to her, and he stared out the window.
    She watched him standing there stiffly, unwilling to look at her. "That's it? I just go with you?"
    "Anywhere I ask."
    She stood up. "Okay. We have a deal."
    He tugged on the bellpull and the butler entered. He faced the man, but his gaze was on her. "Show Miss Lillian to the gold suite, Gage."
    Lilli had the uneasy feeling that she had just jumped in a lake with her hands and feet tied.
    "See that she has anything she wishes." He paused, a silence filled with meaning, then added, "Anything that money can buy."
     
    The gold suite was just that—gold. The bed was gold. The walls had panels that were covered in gold-flecked wallpaper, then wainscoted in gilt. The high ceiling was coffered and painted with a scene that showed a golden sunrise, and rich golden oak flooring was covered with huge imported silk rugs designed in various shades from deep to light golden yellow.
    The rug fringe? Golden silk. Lilli bent down and examined more closely the motif in each rug, half expecting the pattern to be interlocking dollar signs. She straightened, somewhat relieved when she saw only an obscure floral design.
    She crossed the room and opened a door that led to a dressing room, three quarters of which was paneled in mirrors, all gilt framed. Through another door with golden handles shaped like dolphins was a private bath of pale yellow marble with gold dolphin fixtures and—
    "Good heavens ..." she muttered. "A gold sink!" She stared at it and at the gold-framed mirror above it with a dazed look of disbelief.
    Then she saw something reflected in the mirror. Her mouth dropped open and she blinked twice, then spun around.
    The water closet was a golden throne.
    One second she gaped, the next she burst out laughing, and every time she looked around the room she laughed harder, until finally she had to sag back against the sink.
    This had to be a joke. It was too ludicrous not to be.
    But as she stood there, she knew that no one could deny the massive amounts of money it must have taken to decorate this suite. Everything was of the highest quality. What had been ridiculously funny only moments before was not funny any longer. It was a sad example of stupid waste and opulence. Worse yet, a cockeyed sense of values.
    She straightened and left the room quickly, feeling oppressed, uncomfortable, and suddenly rather pessimistic about her chances of ever being able to teach D.L. Stewart anything.
    Once in the bedroom, she just stood there and stared around her. Every piece of furniture, every painting, every bit of the room from the fireplace to the bric-a-brac was coldly flawless. Expensive. Priceless.
    The minutes passed, one by one, time revealing what she hadn't understood before. The man who owned this house, this room, needed to learn more than just how to give from his heart. He was so lost, had his values so skewed, that she wondered if he could ever find any joy or happiness in just living. If he even understood the human spirit or the things that truly mattered in the world.
    She lay back on the bed, with its plush down bedding, expensive silk drape, and hand-carved posts. She stared up at the canopy with a sense of grief so very deep it touched her in a way nothing had before.
    And she began to cry. She turned over and buried her head in her arms, sobbing painfully and pitifully. Not for herself, a fallen angel, but for Daniel Lincoln Stewart, a fallen soul.
     
    D.L. closed his carriage door and looked up. Lilli was watching him from an upstairs window. The drape drifted back and he watched it for a moment longer, then went up the snowy steps, fighting another smile—his second that day.
    The front doors swung open wide and early.
    Gage must be looking for a raise, he thought, then recalled it was near Christmas—that time of year when every servant, delivery boy, and elevator operator began to fawn, hoping for a large tip.
    But to his surprise it