"Lovely!" cried Dora, clapping her hands with joy. "What fun we had—real, good, wholesome fun! Now, look at our little girl. She will hardly look at the beautiful dolls she has. She always goes back to the old stuffed stocking, with a face painted on the ball of cotton that does duty for a head. Now, why? Tell me why she prefers it to all the others."
"Oh, probably because she can ill-use it to her heart's content."
"Not a bit of it; because it reminds her of the happiest, the jolliest days of her life. The pleasures of poverty again, my dear Philip, the sweetest, the never-to-be-forgotten ones—alas, never to be enjoyed again, perhaps!"
"I will see that they are not," said Philip.
"Oh, Philip, tell me that you are happy now, that the ambition of your life will be your work, your art, not money."
"Certainly, darling. But, let me tell you also, honestly, that the greatest pleasure in connection with my days of poverty" ...
"Well?"
"Is that I am poor no longer."
"You incorrigible cynic."
Dora looked at Philip for some moments.