"'It!'" Cosimo could only pipe--one little note, high and thin as that of a piccolo. Amory continued. "I'm not asking a single question about it. I'm not even curious. I didn't become your property when we married, and you're not mine. Our souls are our own, both of us. I think we were very wise to foresee it quite at the beginning.--And don't think I'm jealous. Perfectly truly, I wish you every happiness. Britomart's a very pretty girl, and nobody can say she's always making a display of her cleverness, like some of them. I respect your privacy, and want you to do the best you can with your life." The piccolo note changed to that of a bassoon.--"Amory--listen to me." "No. I'd _very_ much rather not hear anything about it. As Walter said, Life _is_ Love, and I only mentioned this at all to-night because there is one quite small practical detail that doesn't seem to me entirely satisfactory." She understood Cosimo to ask what that was. "This: You ought to be fair to her. I know you'll forgive my mentioning anything so vulgar, but it is--about money. She can't be expected to think of such things herself just now,"--there were whole honeymoons in the reasonable little nod Amory gave,"--and so _I_ mention it. It's my place to do so. For us all just to dip our hands into a common purse doesn't seem to me very satisfactory. She's rights too that I shouldn't dream of disputing. And don't think I'm assuming more than there actually is. I only mean that I don't see why, in certain events, you shouldn't, et cetera; that's all I mean. You see?... But I admit that for everybody's sake I should like things put on a proper footing without loss of time." Cosimo had begun to wander up and down among the saddlebag chairs. His slender fingers rested aimlessly on the backs of them from time to time. Amory thought that he was about to try the remaining notes within the compass of his voice, but instead he suddenly straightened himself. He appeared to have come to a resolution. He strode towards the door. "Where are you going?" Amory asked. "I'm going to fetch Britomart," he replied shortly. "This is preposterous." But again he hesitated, as perhaps Amory surmised he might. His offer, if it meant anything, ought to have meant that his conscience was so clear that Amory might catechize Britomart to her heart's content; but there _had_ been those hair-strokings and hand-pattings, and--and--and Britomart, as Amory had said, was "not always making a display of her cleverness." She might, indeed, let fall something even more disconcerting than the rest-- Cosimo was trying a bluff-- In a word, between fetching Britomart and not fetching her, Amory had her husband by the short hairs. She mused.--"Just a moment," she said. And then she rose from the footstool, put one hand on the edge of the mantelpiece, and with the other drew up her skirt an inch or two and stretched out her slipper to the log.