Even the little dart failed to pierce. She was overwhelmed by this culminating magnanimity. This was indeed surrender. So she was _not_ ignorant of horses, so her work had _not_ been improper. She smiled responsively, but her voice shook. “You mean I can carry on?” “Under the Flynt flag, of course.” “You wouldn’t really mind?” “All’s grist that comes to the mill. Besides, it would leave me free to branch out to Totfield Major, and perhaps even Colchester. Tuesdays, say, if you like.” But she did not like. Her conception of a wife’s dignity boggled at the notion of driving around as before. Unmaidenly it was not—he had handsomely admitted it—but unwifely it assuredly was. A wife’s place, she felt instinctively, was the home. She shook her head. “I don’t think I ought to drive Methusalem any more.” He gasped. “Well, you wouldn’t expect to handle a _pair_ of horses, would you?” If he meant she could not, Jinny was not so sure. But why argue so irrelevant a point? “No, of course not,” she murmured obediently. “I mean Methusalem _will_ like going out to grass.” He breathed freely again. The path to his project was clear at last. “But as a sort of guard now——” he ventured, With an indulgent air. Jinny beamed at so facetious a picture. She saw herself in red, with big buttons and shorn hair. “So I’m to blow your horn for you after all!” “Sure—once you’ve paid up the gloves!” She laughed merrily. Even Miss Gentry’s bill was a dissipated nightmare now. “But where shall I get the money?” she joked, for the pleasure of his reply. “Oh, you’ll take all the money,” he instructed her seriously. “I’ll have to allow you some, though,” she pointed out gaily. “Half,” he explained. “We divide the takings equally—that’s my proposition. Snacks!” “Oh, that’s much too much,” she protested as seriously. The apparent admission pleased him, but increased his sense of magnanimity. “Share and share alike,” he repeated magnificently. “But you don’t want to spend half the takings,” Jinny persisted. “How could I manage on a half?” “Why, you’ll have much more than you ever had!” Jinny was mystified. “But there’ll be the house to keep up and—and——” She paused with shy flaming cheeks. Will was getting a bit puzzled too. “And your grandfather? But I’ve already offered to pay for him and his minder too—out of the joint takings, I mean. Surely half and half is the most you can expect.” But it showed once more how little our Jinny had really been changed from early-Victorian womanhood by her exceptional experiences, that so unconventional a system of joint housekeeping made no appeal to her. “A quarter is the most _you_ can expect,” she retorted. “What!” Will was even more revolted by her ingratitude than by her impudence. “When you only bring in your wretched little cart, and I sank all my capital in the coach!” “Your capital?” Jinny repeated blankly. “You know what I had to pay for the horses!”