"Well, I like that!" was what she said, though, and flung up a pointed
profile that was like that same gazelle's smelling the moon.

He was very darkly red, and rose to his knees to clasp her about the
waist. She felt like relaxing back against his blondness and feeling her
fingers plow through the great double wave of his hair. But she did not.

"You're too poor," she said.

He sat back without speaking for a long minute.

"Money isn't everything," he said, finally, and with something gone from
his voice.

"I know," she said, looking off; "but it's a great deal if you happen to
want it more than anything else in the world."

"Then, if that's how you feel about it, Hester, next to wanting you, I
want it, too, more than anything else in the world."

"There's no future in bookkeeping."

"I know a fellow in Cincinnati who's a hundred-and-fifty-dollar man.
Hester? Dear?"

"A week?"

"Why, of course not, dear--a month!"