“Who’s talking about poverty?” persisted Harry stoutly. “I’ve got more than two hundred dollars saved up, and I’ll have a bigger salary pretty soon.” “What’s two hundred dollars!” she returned. “We’d use that to begin housekeeping. Then, if anything should happen to you—Why, Harry, I’d be worse off than I am now. I don’t want much, but I’ve learned to look ahead—a little. I’ve neither the disposition nor the training to be a wage-earner, and I’ll never go back home after I marry. Dad has a hard enough time of it, anyhow.” There was raillery in her tone, but there was also something of earnestness in it. “Now, Tom Nelson has over two thousand dollars,” she added. “Oh, if you’re going to sell yourself!” exclaimed Harry bitterly. “I didn’t say I’d marry him,” she retorted teasingly, “but, if I did and anything happened to him—” “You’d probably find he’d lost it in some scheme,” put in Harry. “He might,” admitted Alice thoughtfully, “but he’s pretty careful.” “And too old for you,” added Harry angrily. “Still, if it’s only money—” “It isn’t,” she interrupted more seriously; “it’s caution. I’ve had enough to make me just a little cautious. You don’t know how hard it has been, Harry, or you’d understand. If you knew more of the disappointments and heartaches of some of the girls who are deemed mercenary, you wouldn’t blame them for sacrificing sentiment to a certain degree of worldliness. ’I just want to be sure I’ll never have to go through this again,’ says the girl, and she tries to make sure. It isn’t a question of the amount of money she can get by marriage, nor of silks or satins, but rather of peace and security after some years of privation and anxiety. She learns to think of the future, if only in a modest way—that is, some girls do. I’m one of them. What could I do—alone?” “Then you won’t marry me?” “I didn’t say that.” “Then you will marry me?” “I didn’t say that, either. There’s no hurry.”