"Oh? Is _that_ the very special reason?" asked she, with two notes of
laughter.

"No," said he, "but it has a connection with it. You see, I'm in love."

"Yes," said she. "I remember your telling me so."

"Well, I wish I were rich," said he. "Then I might pluck up courage to
ask the woman I love to be my wife."

"Money isn't everything here below," said she. "I have your own word for
that."

"What else counts," said he, "when you wish to ask a woman to marry
you?"

"Oh, many things," said she. "Difference of rank, for example."

"That wouldn't count with me," said the democratic fellow, handsomely.
"I shouldn't give two thoughts to differences of rank."

Maria Dolores smiled--at her secret reflections, I suppose.

"But poverty puts it out of all question," John moodily went on. "I
couldn't ask a woman to come and share with me an income of sixpence a
week. Especially as I have grounds for believing that she's in rather
affluent circumstances herself. Oh, I wish I were rich!" He repeated
this aspiration in a groan.