“Not if their poverty is pretence.”
“Oh, but mine isn’t. Really. See. Here is my purse. Look for yourself. That’s all I shall have till the first of the month.”
She gave Peter her purse. He was still sitting at his desk, and he very deliberately proceeded to empty the contents out on his blotter. He handled each article. There was a crisp ten-dollar bill, evidently the last of those given by the bank at the beginning of the month. There were two one-dollar bills. There was a fifty-cent piece, two quarters and a dime. A gold German twenty-mark piece, about eight inches of narrow crimson ribbon, and a glove button, completed the contents. Peter returned the American money and the glove button to the purse and handed it back to Miss D’Alloi.
“You’ve forgotten the ribbon and the gold piece,” said Leonore.
“You were never more mistaken in your life,” replied Peter, with anything but legal guardedness concerning unprovable statements. He folded up the ribbon neatly and put it, with the coin, in his waistcoat pocket.
“Oh,” said Leonore, “I can’t let you have that That’s my luck-piece.”
“Is it?” Peter expressed much surprise blended with satisfaction in his tone.
“Yes. You don’t want to take my good luck.”
“I will think it over, and write you a legal opinion later.
“Please!” Miss D’Alloi pleaded.