“Well, it gives you your nice food.”
“I don’t care nothing about food.”
“It gives you your comfortable home, your pony, and——”
“Lord Grayleigh gave me my pony.”
“Child, I cannot explain. It makes all the difference between comfort and discomfort, between sorrow and happiness.”
“Do you think so?” said Sibyl. “And father has gone away to give me a nice house, and pretty clothes, and all the other things between being comfy and discomfy; and you want to be rich very much, do you, mother?”
“Very much indeed; I like the good things of life.”
“I’ll try and understand,” said Sibyl. She turned wearily on her pillow, and the next instant sleep had visited the perplexed little brain.