“You know it would not. You know I want no vacation lasting all my life, nor does any real man. You know it was yourself that forced me out of my man’s place and robbed me of my greatest right.”
“Yes,” said she, “a man’s place is to fight and to work. It’s the same to-day. But,” she added, “you ran away; and you lost.”
“But am I not trying to recoup my fortune, Helena? You see, I have already acquired a yacht, although but a few weeks ago I started in the world with scarcely more than my bare hands. Could Monte Cristo have done more?”
“It isn’t money a woman wants in a man.”
“What is it, then?”
“I don’t know,” said she. “Oh, come, we mustn’t go to arguing these things all over again! I’m weary of it. And certainly Aunt Lucinda and I both are weary of our hat box yonder. That’s what I asked you, how long?”
“As long as I like, Helena, you and your Aunt Lucinda shall dwell there. What would you say to three years or so?”
She seemed not to hear. “I believe I’ve found a four leaf clover,” said she.
“Much good fortune may it bring you.”
“Let me try my fortune,” said she, and began plucking off the leaves. “He loves me, he loves me not; he loves me, he loves me not.”