“I meant every single word I said. How could I possibly mean anything else to you?”
“That is what I want to find out. I am very young, and you are the only man I have ever known. At school we used to talk about men and what they did and said and thought; and, of course, we always had our dreams.”
“Of course you had,” said Reid. “All girls have. Do whisper to me what yours were like.”
“No; I can’t do that, for they were so fleeting. One day I imagined one thing about a man, another day, another. But you said the sort of thing to me to-night which—which I did not expect, and which—which I can’t forget.”
“Do tell me what it was,” asked the puzzled lieutenant. He was racking his own brain to remember.
“You expressed a wish that I were as poor as a church mouse. What a very funny thing to say!”
“Oh, it’s that you are thinking of,” said Reid. “Well, I meant it. I meant that I should like you to be poor in order to show you what a fellow will do for a really lovely girl whom he—” and then he drew himself up abruptly and said no more, for he was afraid of going too far.
“Thank you,” said Florence. “Then you are one of the men who do not care for a girl because she is rich?”
“I!” said Reid, being certain by Florence’s manner that she must have over a thousand a year. “I should hate myself if I did.”
“I am so glad to hear it,” said Florence. “I respect you very much.”