"I know nothing about your business. How can I tell if I spend too much?" "Make your mind easy; I'll keep you posted," he laughed. _He_ was not bothering about dangerous ground. "Doubtless,"--dryly. "But if I spend too little?" "Not you." He did mean it! He didn't care! The half-truth fanned the slow fire growing within her into sudden flame. Judith turned, stammering over the dammed rush of replies. "My dear, my dear!" he deprecated, amused. "How easily you lose your temper lately, every time there is a discussion of expenses! Why excite yourself?" Why, indeed? Anger put her at a disadvantage, and making her half wrong, half made him right. "I don't say I particularly blame you, but you see for yourself you don't keep your balance, and it's mistaken kindness to tempt any woman's natural feminine weakness for luxury and display." The retorts were so obvious they were hopeless. She stood looking at him. His eyebrows lifted; he shrugged his shoulders, went out, and forgot. Why any of it, indeed? There was no bridge of speech between alien minds. Their life was a continual game of cross-questions and silly answers. Their natures were antipodal; he had the faults that annoyed her most; his virtues were those least compensating. Was her dream of influencing the children a superstition too, then? The children! They slipped the house whenever possible; avoided their father with an almost physical effect of dodging an expected blow; when with him, watched his mood to forestall with hasty attention or divert with strained wit, with timorous hilarity when he proved complaisant. The possibilities for harm to them were numberless. She and Sam were losing the children, and the children were losing everything. For years they had been a physical and mental outlet for her nature. That love had no question of reciprocity or merit. She had always been willing for them. Only it seemed to her all the rest of love should come first. It occurred to her ironically how happy her marriage would have been without her husband. What was his love worth? It was only taxation--taxation without representation. Had either of them any real love left? Suddenly she stood on the brink of black emptiness. To live without love; her whole nature, every life-habit, changed! _Oh, no, no, no_! So the cold water sets the suicide struggling for shore. Dear, dear! This would not do. Her nerves were getting the best of her; she was losing her own dignity and sweetness--was on the verge of a breakdown. But to say so would be to invoke doctors, pointless questions, futile drugs, and a period of acute affection from Sam--affection that took the form chiefly of expecting it of her.