“Rot,” said Blanche shortly. “We’ve made enough. We started in to give me something to do—not to make money. Well, I’ve had my whack. I’ve had enough to do to last me the rest of my life. Incidentally, I’ve been paid—very handsomely paid. Well, I’m extremely grateful. I’ve got my pretty cake and I’ve eaten it too. And now I’m for putting my feet up.” “That’s very specious,” said Titus, “but the answer is this. The ‘incident,’ as you style it, has swallowed the main idea. To be truthful, it swallowed it before we opened the shambles—or, if not before, as soon as the sheep rolled up. When you’re out for a walk and you strike a trail of nuggets, you’re apt to forget that you’re only out for exercise. And quite right too. Why? Because you usually have to dig for nuggets, and then like as not you’re wrong.” He paused there to steal a glance at his wife. Blanche was holding off her hand and regarding one of her rings with her head on one side. This was a trick she practised when she was ill at ease. ‘Before we opened the shambles.’ As though by accident, Titus had hit the nail square on the head. Yet it was not by accident, as both of them knew. There are occupations other than commerce. But Blanche had chosen commerce, because commerce not only can occupy, but may quite possibly enrich. The woman of the world believed in apparel—its purchase, setting and display, and cared for little else. More money meant more clothes. But the purchase alone of apparel was nothing worth. Clothes were meant to be worn. An occupation which promoted the acquisition of clothes but precluded their display was inconvenient. . . . So the two sat still in their counting-house—the one regarding the other, and the other regarding her ring. There was no sign of summer. There had been one swallow, of course, six months ago . . . _one_ swallow. . . . Blanche lay back in her chair and achieved and then stifled a yawn. “I seem to remember,” she said, “that the first day we struck the nuggets, you weren’t particularly anxious to pick any up.” “I confess it,” said Titus. “It seemed such nerve, somehow. But now I’ve got my hand in, it’s as easy as wink. I’ve done some lovely chambers,” he added musingly. “I shouldn’t wonder if they became historical.” Blanche would not have been human if she had not succumbed to such gratuitous good-humour. She clapped her hands to her face and began to shake with laughter. “Titus,” she said, bubbling, “when you get all wistful and dreamy about the heritage we’re creating for posterity, I could weep for pure joy. It’s like a lion getting all worked up about the view from his lair. Of course, you’re nothing but a great big child who’s been given a nice new game. But I do wish you’d tire of it, dear. Don’t you think you’ve made enough history?” “Not yet,” said Titus slowly. “But I’ve got a fruity idea. You go away for a bit. Take a fortnight off, while I carry on the good work. Go to Paris with Madge an’ take an easy.”