“That is a misfortune. I am in the same state. One can’t give it all to a lunatic asylum, or else people think you are laying up treasure for your own dotage. I wish I was poor, really poor, you know, out at elbows, having to work for my bread. It must be exquisite to be poor.”
“It’s a ridiculous arrangement,” said Maud suddenly. “My grandmother left me heaps of money, and poor Bob none; now Bob wants money and I don’t. But I expect, if one was poor, one would get to like money.”
“No doubt one would,” said Tom, “but that would do one no harm. One would get to know what its value was. At present I haven’t the slightest idea. That is not being miserly—misers never know the value of money; they only know the price of things they want, but refuse to buy.”
They had reached the front door, and stood waiting for the others.
“One ought to be allowed to change circumstances with one’s friends,” said Tom. “I would choose Ted Markham’s circumstances. He is poor, and he is working at what he likes best. Just think how happy one would be! Success to him means the fullest possible success; position means opportunities.”
“What do you mean by opportunities?”
“Why, the University Press will consent to publish his editions of classical authors.”
“That’s narrow,” remarked Miss Wrexham. “Providence has spared me that limitation.”
“That’s what I’m always telling him. But it must be very comfortable to be narrow.”
“Until you know you are narrow.”