“Of course,” she answered, “money makes a position of its own, and every-body knows that you are a prince; but it would be nicer, with the servants and every-body, to be a princess.”
“I am afraid I cannot do it,” said Paul.
“Then there is some reason for it,” answered his wife, looking at him sharply.
“Yes, there is.”
“Ah!”
“The reason is the responsibility that attaches to the very title you wish to wear.”
The lady smiled, a little scornfully perhaps.
“Oh! Your grubby old peasants, I suppose,” she said.
“Yes. You remember, Etta, what I told you before we were married—about the people, I mean?”
“Oh, yes!” answered Etta, glancing at the clock and hiding a little yawn behind her fan.