They grinned at each other and hit their blues and twos.

“In every vaunt you make,” she said, “I have my triumph. I single out in you the meanest man I know, the parasite and tool of the proud tyrant, that his wound may go the deeper, and may rankle more. Boast, and revenge me on him! […] ”

I intend to marry, of course, replied Tuppence. That is, if—she paused, knew a momentary longing to draw back, and then stuck to her guns bravely—I can find some one rich enough to make it worth my while.

As one writer put it: “Wealth is counted in worldsful of gold.[…]”