“I am, I am. It’s the truth. You give, and I take—all the time. I take and take and take. What fun do you have? None. Every penny you can spare—more goes on my back. And then when we’re up against it I kick and scream. Ti, I’m ashamed of myself.” “I can’t bear it,” said Titus brokenly. “Why shouldn’t you have a show?” “I do—I have. You give me a wonderful show. Everything I’ve wanted I’ve always had. There isn’t a husband like you in all the world. You’ve given up thing after thing—you know you have. You never hunt now, you wear the same old suits, you’ve chucked the Bath and the Bachelors’——” “Never went inside ’em,” muttered Titus. “What was the good of——” “You gave them up to save money—for me to blow. And I—I let you do it. I traded upon your love. I let you go hungry whilst I was bolting your share. And then . . .” Blanche covered her face and burst into tears. “I’m a rotten thief,” she sobbed, “a rotten, selfish——” “Blanche, my lady,” begged Titus, “don’t cry about me. It’s amused me to death to give you what little I could. It’s been my delight to see you enjoying life. And when you say I’ve let you drink my liquor it isn’t true. I’ve done myself proud all the time.” “You’ve given up cigars,” wailed Blanche. “And you swapped your one pearl pin for an arrow to go in my hat.” “Have a heart, my beauty, have a heart. You’re the only thing I’ve got, and if it gives me pleasure to——” “I asked for ‘my share,’ Ti. I actually asked for ‘my share.’ Why didn’t you get up and shake me when I asked for ‘my share’?” “I damned near did,” said Titus. “But it seemed a pity to disturb you—you looked so sweet. Half on an’ half off the table, with your precious chin exalted and a couple of hands in your lap. I don’t wonder I’m mad about you.” Blanche continued to weep violently, refusing to be comforted. Titus sat down beside her and did what he could. The terrier, greatly distressed, alternately nosed his patrons and lay on his back before them with his paws in the air. . . . Presently the telephone-bell began to throb. Titus left the room to reply to the call. Once outside the door, he covered his eyes. “It’s coming,” he said brokenly. “‘There isn’t a husband like you in all the world.’ That’s what she said. Oh, my blessed darling, our summer’s coming again.” Titus had wooed a lady that loved him heart and soul and had married one that had come to love only herself. This was his own fault. Blanche Dudoy Guest was a darling, and he had spoiled her to death. Their engagement had been childishly happy—a glorious summer of content. Then they were married less than a year ago, and instantly winter had set in. Titus did what he could and, though he was no fool, made a pack of mistakes. This was easy. Blanche out of humour was the devil and all. The winter, which had never been kindly, began to grow harsh. With it all, the man never lost heart.