queried, in her happy girl's voice. "You don't look as if you did."
"I 'm proud and flattered, probably too much so for speech."
"I 'm glad, because that 's what you were. There 's no getting out of it. I 'll tell you how it happened. My father used to own a great deal of stock in mines and companies and things, and when everything went down so fast, he sold almost all of it. But some he kept. He had it put away in the drawers of his desk up-stairs in his room, and about two months ago it began to go up, and now it pays dividends and we get them. Is n't that good luck?"
She was close to him, looking into his face. He turned his head this time and confronted her with a steady gaze. In the harsh afternoon light every curve and line of her countenance was revealed. Her eyes were full of light and joy. His glance met and held them for one searching moment, then turned away baffled.
"Very good luck. I congratulate you," he said.
"You may well," she answered. "I 'd given up expecting good luck ever any more in this world. I believe in it, and my father's had come and gone almost before I was born, and mine—mine has n't come yet, I suppose."
"Unless you discover some more old stock in the pigeonholes of the desk."
