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"You don't want to become a farmer's wife then, huh?"

"No," I said emphatically and with such conviction, he laughed.

"So, you better practice that violin and get yourself into a good school. Or marry someone very rich," he added.

"If I marry anyone, it won't be because of what he has in his bank account." I replied.

Chandler threw me a look of skepticism. "I mean that," I said.

"Okay," he said.

When we pulled up to the front of the restaurant, there were young men there to valet park Chandler's car. One of them rushed to open my door, and then another was at the restaurant door to open that for us. I took a deep breath and stepped in alongside Chandler. He approached the hostess, who immediately recognized him and called him. "Mr. Maxwell." She escorted us to our table, a corner booth.

"This is a little more private than the other tables," Chandler explained when we were seated. "I don't like feeling I'm in a fish bowl, do you?"

"Oh. no," I said. He had no idea how grateful I was, being seated where fewer people could observe us.

"I can't get us any wine." he said apologetically.

"That's all right."

The only wine I had ever drunk was a homemade elderberry on Christmas. but I wasn't going to tell him that.

The waiter greeted us, again obviously familiar with Chandler. He handed us the menus, which to my surprise had everything in French. I started to declare my inability to read it, when Chandler turned the page and I saw it was all translated.

"I recommend the duck," Chandler said.

I stared in disbelief at the prices. Everything was a la carte. The only thing they gave us was a platter of bread.

"This is very expensive," I said.

Chandler leaned forward again to whisper.

I've got my mother's charge card. No problem. Order whatever you want, even caviar, if you want."

"Oh, no," I said quickly. The caviar was more than a hundred dollars itself. "I'll have the duck."

"Good. Me, too." he said, and ordered that for us, and two of what I thought were ridiculously priced salads as well as a large bottle of French water. He told the waiter we were going to a show and the waiter promised to get us served quickly.

I glanced around at some of the other people. The restaurant was only about a quarter filled. Chandler explained that it was early. The people here were probably all going to the show, too. Everyone was well-dressed, the women in fancy gowns, the men in suits, even tuxedos. I began to worry that I was very under-dressed. I didn't have any of the glittering jewelry all the other women had. Chandler

misunderstood my looking at everyone with such interest.

"Don't worry.'" he said confidently. "none of the lollipops are here." He leaned forward and smiled. "It's like flying above bad weather. That's what money does for you."

"Not everyone with less money is bad weather. Chandler," I said. He shrugged.

"No, not everyone, but enough of them."

"I don't have lots of money." I said.

"Yes," he said, nodding and looking at me firmly, his eyes becoming small and intent as they often did. "but you will. Honey. Youwill."

"How do you know that?" I asked. smiling.

"I know. I have a built-in wealth detector."

I started to laugh.