“That didn’t make them tough. They were tough already, or they wouldn’t have done it.” Jeremy spread out his hands. “Out of your own mouth . . .” he said. “Only tough people do tough things; or, in other words, tough things are only done by tough people.” There was a moment’s silence. Then— “Right-oh,” said Eve. “I’m tough. And just to leave no doubt upon the subject I’m going to drink two and probably three cocktails to-night. If as a result I get tight, it’ll be your privilege to escort me upstairs and apply the usual restoratives. Really,” she added, raising her delicate arms and stretching luxuriously, “it’s a great thought that if I like to exceed I shall be properly cared for. A minute ago I was wondering why I’d married you, but at least a tame missioner has his points. Even if you do choke him off, it’s his job to return good for evil.” Jeremy turned to the window. “Are you trying,” he said, “to get a rise?” “No,” said Eve calmly. “I never attempt to accomplish a _fait accompli_.” “Why d’you call me a missioner and talk about choking me off? You know it’s unfair and uncivil.” “I don’t consider it unfair, and whether it’s civil or not doesn’t concern me.” “Then it should,” said Broke shortly. “And in future I’ll be glad if it does. I’m not rude to you, and I see no reason why you should be rude to me.” Eve laughed musically. “You have been most offensive,” she said. “Familiarity breeds contempt, I know. Still, one likes it to be veiled. At least, I do. You might make a note of that. And next time you feel impelled to review my manners . . .” “Eve, Eve, why do you speak like this?” “In the hope that you’ll understand. If we’re to continue to live together, I advise you to pull up your socks. Because it amuses me to let you hold the reins——” Jeremy turned. “You’re determined to force my hand,” he said quietly. “I beg that in future you will take only one cocktail before a meal.” Eve raised her eyebrows and sighed. “Your request is refused,” she said. “Must I make it an order?” Mrs. Broke stared. “An order?” she said, rising. “An order . . . which I shall enforce.” Jeremy watched the blood mount to the glorious temples, the exquisite lips tighten, the red glow of anger steal into the great brown eyes. He continued evenly. “I am determined that my wife shall not cheapen herself. I’ve entreated in vain; I’ve used argument, and it’s failed; and so I must use—power.” “Power?” breathed the girl. “Power? . . . When you make enough money to pay your washing-bills . . .” Jeremy stiffened suddenly and went very pale. With a hammering heart, his wife stood still as death. For a moment he spoke no word. Then— “I’m going out,” he said shortly. “Don’t wait for lunch. I shan’t be back till seven. I shall come back then—this time. But if ever you say such a thing again or anything like it, I shall walk right out for good.” He picked up his hat and coat and passed out of the room. . . .