Isabella looked at her own hands and burst into laughter, "Mr. Hunter, why do I feel like we're such rich folks!"
Harry Hunter stood up, took her hand and kissed it, "What's wrong with being wealthy? If I wasn't afraid you might find it tacky, I'd have ten or eight made for you, and you could fill up all ten fingers."
Alexander Parker couldn't hold it in anymore and sneered, "Harry Hunter, are you a nouveau riche? The rich son of a coal magnate?"
Harry, in a good mood, didn't bother with him, "You're just jealous that I'm rich."
He held Isabella's hand and led her downstairs, "Madam, let's go dance. There's a lemon over here that's gone sour, speaking all bitterly, not nice at all."
The two lovingly and affectionately headed downstairs, embracing each other in the spacious hall on the first floor, gently swaying to the music.
