“Oh, do not say that!” cried I, eagerly.
“Yes, dear, I must say it. Monsieur Cleremont and I have always been very poor, and we never permitted ourselves these luxuries, any more than we kept a great house and a fine equipage, and so we economize in our morals, as in our means, doing what rich folk might call little shabbinesses; but, on the whole, managing to live, and not unhappily either.”
“And papa?”
“Papa has a fine estate, wants for nothing, and can give himself every good quality he has a fancy for.”
“By this theory, then, it is only rich people are good?”
“Not exactly. I would rather state it thus,—the rich are as good as they like to be; the poor are as good as they 're able.”
“What do you say, then, to Mr. Eccles: he 's not rich, And I 'm sure he's good?”
“Poor Mr. Eccles!” said she, with a merry laughter, in which a something scornful mingled, and she hurried away.