“Yet you rendered it to Cæsar—every cent.” She leapt to her feet and caught the lapels of his coat. “Every rotten cent that the good God had given us to make us happy you rendered unto Cæsar, as though it were Cæsar’s. _And it wasn’t Cæsar’s_, Jeremy. It was ours—yours and mine. . . .” Her voice broke, and the tears came into her eyes. “I was so happy, dear, to think I was rich, because I felt I’d got something worth sharing—which you would share. I was so proud and happy. . . . And then—you—wouldn’t—share—it. . . . Well, at first I was dismayed, as children are. You married a child, you know. . . . I tell you, I was ready to cry for disappointment. And then, suddenly, I saw something very magnificent—unearthly handsome, Jeremy, in your refusal. It was something so bright and shining that I couldn’t think of anything else. I found you were paying me a compliment for all the world to see such as no woman with money had ever been paid before. . . . Well, I’m vain. And the childish impulse to burst into tears was swallowed up in pride to think that I had for my husband so fine a gentleman. I found it so flattering, Jeremy: I was just drunk with vanity. And so I became a princess—you made me one, dear: and the child that you married disappeared. . . . And with the child disappeared the idea of sharing—a princess doesn’t share. That it was _our_ money never occurred to me again. I had no eyes for such an idea. Every hour of every day you showed me that it was _mine_. And I came to prize its possession because it had brought me this superb allegiance. I sank to be a queen, Jeremy: and dragged you down to be the keeper of my purse . . . you . . . And then a day came when the queen became imperious—high with her faithful servant . . . thought him presumptuous . . . rose in the dignity he’d given her and asked who paid him to keep the privy purse.” There was a long silence. Presently Eve went on. “And then a strange thing happened. You went, of course. But so did the queen, Jeremy. So did the pride and vanity and all the false position you had built up. And if you could have seen what was left, you’d ’ve seen a child crying—because it had no playmate to share its pretty toys. . . . I say the false position _you_ had built up. Jeremy lad, it’s true. I let you build it, of course. I gave you the bricks. If I hadn’t been so vain—so hellishly vain, I’d ’ve caught your arm at the beginning and stopped the rot. You built so faithfully, Jeremy—with the cleanest, honestest heart. And I watched you and let you build and thought how wonderful it was. And all the time you were rendering our happiness to Cæsar. He’s had four months of it already, four long, matchless months out of our little treasure. Oh, Jeremy, Jeremy, you’re not going to give him any more?” Jeremy caught her to him and held her close. “My eloquent darling,” he said, with his cheek against hers. “But you’ve forgotten my sex. A man——” “You’d ’ve married me if I’d been poor?”