“How happy you look, Rachel,” said he, as she drew her chair beside his and laid her hand upon his arm.
“I am indeed happy, dear Harry, for I am now no richer than yourself.”
“I don’t understand you,” replied Wilford with a puzzled look.
“You gave me a most unpleasant piece of news yesterday, Harry, when you told me that my paltry little fortune had been preserved from your creditors, and now I am happy in the consciousness that no such reproach can attach to us. I have been closeted with your lawyer this morning; he told me about twenty thousand dollars would clear off all claims against you, and by this time I suppose you are free.”
“What have you done?”
“Handed over my marriage settlement to your assignees, Harry”—
“And reduced yourself to a bare subsistence, Rachel, to satisfy a group of gaping creditors who would swallow my last morsel if they knew I was left to starve.”
“The debts were justly due, Harry, and I would rather that the charge of illiberality should attach to them than of dishonesty to us.”
“You have never known the evils of poverty, my poor child,” said Wilford, despondingly.
“Nor do I mean to experience them now, dear husband; you will not let me want for comforts, and you seem to forget that, though you have tried to spoil me, my early habits were those of economy and frugality.”