“No. I told you it was exciting to be poor. You’re not poor enough. A new dress,” she went on, clasping her hands; “first of all, I had to save up—in pennies.” She turned accusingly. “You don’t believe it.”
“It must have taken a long time.”
“It did, but not so long as you would think, because it cost so little in the end. I saved up, and then I looked in the shop windows, and then I talked about it for days, and then I bought the stuff. Mother cut out the dress, and then I made it.”
“And the result was charming.”
“I thought so then. Now I know it wasn’t, but at the time I was happy.”
“Well,” he said, “that’s very interesting, but it doesn’t help me.”
“But I could help you if you told me your troubles. I should know how.”
“Telling my troubles would be a help.”
“Here I am, then.”
“What’s the good?” he said. “You’ll desert me, too.”