"Oh, being extravagant," she explained. "He buys beautiful little bouquets for his button-hole, and all sorts of little unnecessary things of that kind, and the money goes very fast. But it must be so hard to see pretty things and not to be able to buy them. I should never be able to do that; as soon as ever I see anything I like, I send into the shop and have it brought out to me at once."
I smiled to myself as I went on with my work, for I was thinking how different Evelyn's experience had been from mine. She seemed to guess my thoughts.
"I suppose you have not always had everything that you wanted and wished for?" she said.
"Everything I really wanted—yes," I answered; "everything I may have wished for—no."
"Oh dear! Was it not very tiresome?" she asked.
"I think it was good for me," I said.
"Good for you!" she repeated. "That's just like the brown alpaca. How could it be good for you?"
"I think it made me enjoy all the more the good things which were given me," I said—"things that perhaps you might have thought nothing of, and things which would have given you no pleasure at all."
"What sort of things?" asked Evelyn.
"Oh, any little present that was given me; any new book, or picture; any little pleasure, or treat of any kind. We had so few new things, that when anything fresh came, it was prized and valued more than I can tell you. I really think it gave us more enjoyment than far grander things would give you."