Now, I don't want poetry or moonlight,--I hate both! Poetry makes me sleepy, and moonlight gives me neuralgia.

I should like a husband who would be a _friend_ to me--a real kind friend!--some one who would be able to take care of me, and be nice to me always--some one much older than myself, who was wise and strong and clever----" "And rich," said Helmsley quietly.

"Don't forget that! Very rich!" She glanced at him furtively, conscious of a slight nervous qualm.

Then, rapidly reviewing the situation in her shallow brain, she accepted his remark smilingly.
"Oh, well, of course!" she said.

"It's not pleasant to live without plenty of money." He turned from her abruptly, and resumed his leisurely walk to and fro, much to her inward vexation.