A year of this work, with Howard giving many hours of each day personally to tiresome details, brought the natural results. The profits of the News-Record had risen to five hundred and forty thousand, of which Howard’s share was nearly three hundred thousand. The next year the profits were seven hundred and fifty thousand, and Howard had reduced his debt to eight hundred thousand.
“We shall be free and clear in less than three years,” he said to Marian.
“If we have luck,” she added.
“No—if we work—and we shall. Luck is a stone which envy flings at success.”
“Then you don’t think you have been lucky?”
“Indeed I do not.”
“Not even,” she smiled, drawing herself up.
“Not even—” he said with a faint, sad answering smile. “If you only knew how hard I worked preparing myself to be able to get you when you came; if you only, only knew how life made me pay, pay, pay; if you only knew—”
“Go on,” she said, coming closer to him.
He sighed—not for the reason of sentiment which she fancied, though he put his arms around her. “How willingly I paid,” he evaded.