“You were clothed,” he said, “as a spinster. I remember it perfectly. But two hundred a year was all you had to do it on.” “Are you suggesting——” “I’m suggesting nothing,” said Cheviot. “I’m pointing out hard facts.” “I suppose you consider you’re very generous.” “Well, I don’t think I’m stingy. Seven hundred and ninety quid in less than——” “It would interest me to know what you consider my share.” “I don’t know,” said Titus. “I don’t pretend to know. The flat and the car cost about eighteen hundred. I spend about a hundred——” “We could live much more cheaply,” said Blanche. “I don’t quite see why we should.” “Exactly. You choose the style in which we live. If we spent less money on that, we should have more money to spend on other things.” “Such as clothes,” said Titus. “What a truly solemn thought. Never mind. You chose the flat when I was out of town. And the car.” “Because I knew you wouldn’t be content with anything else.” “In fact, you sank your wishes to do me pleasure?” “I did—like a fool,” said Blanche. “You covered it up very well,” said Cheviot. “When the flat in St. James’s fell through, you cried all night. And that was more expensive.” “It’s no good talking,” said Blanche. “You don’t understand. In America——” “I know,” said Titus. “I know. In America you’d have four-fifths of my income, and I should pay for your furs. All I can say is I’m damned glad I’m English.” “In America men work.” “Is that your trouble? Well, I’ve worked pretty hard in my time and I’m forty-two. Moreover, I’ve got a game leg. Never mind. What about the car?” “Well, what about it?” said Blanche defiantly. “This,” said her husband. “You say that you chose it because you knew that I should not be content with anything else. Do you remember the car I used to have?” “Did you expect me to go about in that?” Cheviot sighed. “I expected nothing,” he said. “That is the art of life. Then you don’t feel such a mug when you find a wiggle-woggle in your grease.” Mrs. Cheviot shuddered. “Need you be disgusting?” she said.