"This is a nice party, isn't it?" she asked, when she had brought the hot buttered toast from the kitchen and cut it into very small slices on my plate; "the tea smells deliciously. I paid a dollar and a quarter for a pound of it this morning."
"If I'm ever rich again you shall pay a million and a quarter, if you want to."
The charming archness awoke in her eyes, while she looked at me over the brim of the cup.
"Isn't this just as nice as being rich, Ben?" she asked; "I am really, you know, a far better cook than Aunt Mehitable."
"All the same I'd rather live on bread and water than have you do it," I answered.
She lifted her hand, pushing the heavy hair from her forehead, and my gaze fell on the jagged scar on her wrist. Then, as she caught my glance, her arm dropped suddenly under the table, and she pulled her loose muslin sleeve into place.
"Does the burn hurt you, Sally?"
"Not now—it is quite healed. At first it smarted a little."
"Darling, how did you do it?"
"I've forgotten. On the stove, I think."