“Yes, Pa, that is the state of the case. If ever there was a mercenary plotter whose thoughts and designs were always in her mean occupation, I am the amiable creature. But I don’t care. I hate and detest being poor, and I won’t be poor if I can marry money. Now you are deliciously fluffy, Pa, and in a state to astonish the waiter and pay the bill.”

“But, my dear Bella, this is quite alarming at your age.”

“I told you so, Pa, but you wouldn’t believe it,” returned Bella, with a pleasant childish gravity. “Isn’t it shocking?”

“It would be quite so, if you fully knew what you said, my dear, or meant it.”

“Well, Pa, I can only tell you that I mean nothing else. Talk to me of love!” said Bella, contemptuously: though her face and figure certainly rendered the subject no incongruous one. “Talk to me of fiery dragons! But talk to me of poverty and wealth, and there indeed we touch upon realities.”