"Even so," she said, and halted.
"Doris," he whispered with passionate bitterness, "I will say it only once: it's rotten to be poor. That's all. Now let's—"
"And I think I will say it all my life," she answered almost inaudibly; "… it's rotten to be rich, and I'm afraid we shall be late for tea."
They were,—very late.