"But why--what's come over you, Arthur? Surely we've got enough money. What _has_ come over you? I never could make you out and I never shall." "Nothing! Nothing!" said he. "Only I've got a sort of idea that some one ought to be economic and productive. It may kill me, but I'll die producing, anyhow." He waited for her to begin upbraiding him for capricious folly and expatiating upon the fragility of his health. But you never know where you are with an Eve. Eves have the most disconcerting gleams of insight. She said: "I'm rather glad. I was getting anxious about you."