"Well, I don't know that I am, with a young lady growing up on my hands," said her father smiling.
"Am I very expensive?" she asked with a sudden little expression of gravity coming over her face.
"No, that you are not, my dear—and if you were, there is no pleasure on earth to me like giving it to you. That is one of my chief reasons for working so steadily, though there are others."
"I have plenty of money," said Eleanor.
"Then you are happier than most people, who don't know when they have plenty."
"Yes—you see, all I have to do when I want anything is to go into a store and ask for it, and tell them I am your daughter, and they let me have it at once."
"Oh ho!" said her father, laughing, "so that is the way you buy things, is it? No wonder you have plenty. Well, you'd better come to me and ask for what you want."
"I think the other is the easier way, and as you say you like to give it to me, I don't see that it makes any difference."
Mr. Leigh decided that he had better explain the difference.
"I hate rich people," said Eleanor suddenly. "They are so vulgar."