Josephine, my poor girl, you need no longer suffer the pangs of hunger and neglect.

You and I are no longer penniless.

What do you say to an income?
What do you say to four hundred a year ?" Josephine put up her thin, white hand to her forehead.
"Four hundred a year ?" she repeated, vaguely.

"I don't quite know what it means.

What have we now ?" "Anything or nothing.