The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. "I'm glad to hear it, that's all," he added, taking out his snuff-box, his never-failing resource in such emergencies. She bent down. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. "At length, I have my wish," continued Mrs.
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