George was not evicted, and Mr. Shelf inquired curtly what his wife was pleased to want. She seldom invaded this business-room of his, and, when she did, it was for a purpose which he was beginning to abhor. She came to the point at once by handing him a letter, which was mostly in copperplate. He read it through with brief, sour comment. “H’m! Bank. Your private account overdrawn. That’s the third time this year, Laura. Warning seems to be no use. You are determined to know what ruin tastes like.” “Ruin, pshaw! You don’t put me off with that silly tale. To begin with, I don’t believe it for an instant; and even if it were true, I’d rather be ruined than retrench. You and I can afford to be candid between ourselves, Theodore. You know perfectly well that we have gained our position in society purely and solely by purchase.” “To my cost I do know it. But having paid your entrance fee at least eight times over, I think you might be content with an ordinary subscription. The ball last night, for instance——” “Was necessary. And I couldn’t afford to do the thing otherwise than gorgeously.” “Gorgeously! Do you think I’m a Crœsus, Laura, to pay for gearing one room with red roses, and another room with pink, and another room with Marshal Niels for fools to flit in during one short night? This morning’s paper informs me that those flowers came by special express from Nice, and cost five hundred pounds.” “And yet you twit me with extravagance! All the papers have got in that paragraph, as I took care they should; and everybody will read it. Yet the flowers only cost a paltry three hundred pounds, so that in credit I am two hundred to the good, because I have clearly given _the_ ball of the season. Theodore, you are short-sighted; you are a fool to your own profit. By myself I shall make you a baronet this year, and if you had only worked in your own interests half as hard as I have done, you could have entered the House of Lords.” “Titles,” said Shelf grimly, “for people of our stamp, are only given for direct cash outlay in almshouses, or picture galleries, or political clubs. Before they are bestowed, a Crown censor satisfies himself that one’s financial position is broad and absolutely sound. There are reasons connected with those matters which block you further and further from being ‘milady’ every day.” Mrs. Shelf shrugged her shoulders in utter unbelief. “Your preaching tendencies cover you like a second skin, Theodore. It seems as if you never drop the conventicle and the pleasure of pointing a moral at one. Believe me, is isn’t a paying speculation, this cant of yours. At the most they would only give you a trumpery knighthood for it. But go your own way, and I’ll go mine. You shall be made in spite of yourself.” Mrs. Shelf noticed that at this point her husband’s eyes were beginning to glow with dull fury. She objected to scenes; and, dropping the subject, reverted once more to her present needs.