“What do you mean?”
“I can’t ’splain, Mr. Holman understands. But, mother, I thought we had plenty of money.”
“Plenty of money,” echoed Mrs. Ogilvie; “that shows what a very silly little child you are. We have nothing like enough. When your father comes back we’ll be rich.”
“Rich?” said Sibyl, “rich?” She did not say another word for a long time. Her mother really thought she had dropped asleep. In about half an hour, however, Sibyl spoke.
“Is it nice, being rich?” she asked.
“Of course it is.”
“But what does it do?”
“Do? It does everything. It gives you all your pretty frocks.”
“But I am more comfy in my common frocks.”