He couldn't resist the temptation to tease her a little. "My old man's a multi-millionaire," he rattled on. "Of course I get sick of that life sometimes, and scout about a bit."
Her eyes became so reproachful his heart smote him.
"Oh, that's only a joke," he said quickly. "Lord knows the poverty was real enough—but it's over for good!" "For both of us," he would have liked to add, but did not quite dare. "Look!" he cried, drawing his hand out of his pocket with the great roll of yellow-backed bills. "My income for half an hour!"
"Where did you get it?" she said aghast
He laughed again. "Honest, I didn't steal it."
"Please!"
He told her at last. The story sounded strange in his own ears. When he came to the end he saw to his astonishment that there were tears in her eyes.
"Why—why, what's the matter?" he cried.
"I don't know," she said smiling through the rain. "Am I not silly? But I suppose it means change. And I hate changes!"
"A change for the better, only. If you knew how I hated poverty!"