"I am glad I am rich," said Paul simply, "because I shall be able to
give you all you want. There are many little things that add to a
woman's comfort; I shall find them out and see that you have them."

"Are you so very rich, Paul?" she asked, with an innocent wonder. "But I
don't think it matters; do you? I do not think that riches have much to
do with happiness."

"No," he answered. He was not a person with many theories upon life or
happiness or such matters--which, by the way, are in no way affected by
theories. By taking thought we cannot add a cubit to the height of our
happiness. We can only undermine its base by too searching an analysis
of that upon which it is built.

So Paul replied "No," and took pleasure in looking at her, as any lover
must needs have done.

"Except, of course," she said, "that one may do good with great riches."

She gave a little sigh, as if deploring the misfortune that hitherto her
own small means had fallen short of the happy point at which one may
begin doing good.

"Are you so very rich, Paul?" she repeated, as if she was rather afraid
of those riches and mistrusted them.

"Oh, I suppose so. Horribly rich!"

She had withdrawn her hand. She gave it to him again, with a pretty
movement usually understood to indicate bashfulness.