"So much?" said Edith, yet in a tone that showed no surprise or
particular interest in the matter.

"Fifty dollars a day," resumed Claire, "counting three hundred
week-days in the year, gives the handsome sum of fifteen thousand
dollars in the year. I'd be satisfied with as much in five years."

There was more feeling in the tone of his voice than he had meant to
betray. His young wife lifted her eyes to his face, and looked at him
with a wonder she could not conceal.

"Contentment, dear," said she, in a gentle, subdued, yet tender voice,
"is great gain. We have enough, and more than enough, to make us
happy. Natural riches have no power to fill the heart's most yearning
affections; and how often do they take to themselves wings and fly
away."

"Enough, dear!" replied Edward Claire, smiling. "O no, not enough, by
any means. Five hundred dollars a year is but a meagre sum. What does
it procure for us? Only these two rooms and the commonest necessaries
of life. We cannot even afford the constant service of a domestic."

"Why, Edward! what has come over you? Have I complained?"

"No, dear, no. But think you I have no ambition to see my wife take a
higher place than this?"

"Ambition! Do not again use that word," said Edith, very earnestly.
"What has love to do with ambition? What have we to do with the world