“But he can have me without!” wailed Dorothy, burying her head in the pillow.
“Oh, no he can’t,” Tavia said wisely and quietly. “You know he can’t. If you could tempt him to throw up his principles in the matter, you know very well, Doro, that you would be heartbroken.”
“What?”
“Yes you would. You wouldn’t want a young man dangling after you who had thrown aside his self-respect for a girl. Now, would you?” And without waiting for an answer she continued: “Not that I approve of his foolishness. Some men are that way, however. Thank heaven I am not a man.”
“Oh! I’m glad you’re not, either,” confessed Dorothy with her soft lips now against Tavia’s cheek.
“Thank you, ma’am. I have often thought I’d like to be of the hemale persuasion; but never, no more!” declared Tavia, with vigor. “Suppose I should then be afflicted with an ingrowing conscience about taking money from the woman I married? Whe-e-e-ew!”
“He wouldn’t have to,” murmured Dorothy, burying her head again and speaking in a muffled voice. “I’d give up the money.”
“And if he had any sense or unselfishness at all he wouldn’t let you do that,” snapped Tavia. “No. You couldn’t get along without much money now, Dorothy.”
“Nonsense——”
“It is the truth. I know I should be hopelessly unhappy myself if I had to go home and live again just as they do there. I have been spoiled,” said Tavia, her voice growing lugubrious. “I want wealth—luxuries—and everything good that money buys. Yes, Doro, when it comes my time to become engaged, I must get a wealthy man or none at all. I shall be put up at auction——”