to marry. And he had laughed at the idea. He had always said that
when two people truly love each other it does not matter whether
they have money or not. But when in London, with only a
five-pound note, and face to face with the actual proposition of
asking Helen Carey not only to marry him but to support him, he
felt that money counted for more than he had supposed. He found
money was many different things--it was self-respect, and proper
pride, and private honors and independence. And, lacking these
things, he felt he could ask no girl to marry him, certainly not
one for whom he cared as he cared for Helen Carey. Besides, while
he knew how he loved her, he had no knowledge whatsoever that she
loved him. She always seemed extremely glad to see him; but that
might be explained in different ways. It might be that what was
in her heart for him was really a sort of "old home week"
feeling; that to her it was a relief to see any one who spoke her
own language, who did not need to have it explained when she was
jesting, and who did not think when she was speaking in perfectly
satisfactory phrases that she must be talking slang.

The Ambassador and his wife had been very kind to Endicott, and,
as a friend of Helen's, had asked him often to dinner and had
sent him cards for dances at which Helen was to be one of the
belles and beauties. And Helen herself had been most kind, and
had taken early morning walks with him in Hyde Park and through
the National Galleries; and they had fed buns to the bears in the
Zoo, and in doing so had laughed heartily. They thought it was
because the bears were so ridiculous that they laughed. Later
they appreciated that the reason they were happy was because they
were together. Had the bear pit been empty, they still would have
laughed.