Leaning over her, I gathered her to me with a hunger for comfort, kissing her eyes, her mouth, her throat, and the loosened braid on her bosom. "Oh, you witch, you've almost made me happy!" I said. "I am happy, Ben." "Happy? The horses must go, and the carriage and the furniture even. We'll have to move into some cheap place. I'll get a position of some kind with the railroad, and then we'll have to scrimp and save for an eternity, until we pay off this damned burden of debt." She laughed softly, her mouth at my ear. "I'm happy, Ben." "We shan't be able to keep servants. You'll have to wear old clothes, and I'll go so shabby that you'll be ashamed of me. We'll forget what a bottle of wine looks like, and if we were ever to see a decent dinner, we shouldn't recognise it." Again she laughed, "I'm still happy, Ben." "We'll live in some God-forsaken, out-of-the-way little hole, and never even dare ask a person in to a meal for fear there wouldn't be enough potatoes to go around. It will be a daily uphill grind until I've managed to pay off honestly every cent I owe." Her arms tightened about my neck, "Oh, Ben, I'm so happy." "Then you are a perfectly abandoned creature," I returned, lifting her from the rug until she nestled against my heart. "I've given up trying to make you as miserable as a self-respecting female ought to be. If you won't be proper and wretched, I can't help it, for I've done my best. And the most ridiculous part of it is, darling, that I actually believe I'm happy, too!" She laughed like a child between her kisses. "Then, you see, it isn't really the thing, but the way you take it that matters." "I'm not sure about the logic of that--but I'm inclined to think just now that the only thing I've ever taken is you." "If you'll try to remember that, you'll be always happy." "But I must remember also that I've brought you to poverty--I, who had only money to give you." "Do you dare to tell me to my face that I married you for money?" "You couldn't very well have married me without it." "I don't know about the 'very well,' but I know that I'd have done it." "Do you think that, Sally?" Turning in my arms, she lifted her head, and looked steadily into my face. "Have I ever lied to you since we were married, Ben?" "No, darling." "Have I ever deceived you?" "Never, I am sure," I responded with a desperate levity, "except for my good." "Have I ever deceived you," she demanded sternly, "even for your good?" "To tell the truth, I don't believe you ever have." The warm pressure of her body was withdrawn, and rising to her feet, she stood before me under the blazing light. "Then I'm not lying to you when I say that I'd have married you if you hadn't possessed a penny to your name--I'd have married you if--if I'd had to take in washing." "Sally!" I cried, and made a movement to recapture her; but pushing me back, she stood straight and tall, with the fingers of her outstretched hand touching my breast.