Her frankness had its effect, however, for he modified the characteristic, and no longer shouted “Yah” at lesser intellects and longer purses. Another change she brought about was the matter of diet. Very drastically she quashed the nibbling habit which with him had taken the place of meals. “Wynne,” she said, “what did you have for breakfast?” “Lord knows. I don’t! Nothing, I expect.” “Would you like to please me?” “Yes,” he answered, “I suppose so.” “You are starving yourself.” “What nonsense!” “You are. You won’t be able to stand the strain if you don’t eat properly.” “I shan’t if I do,” he replied. “How can I buy books and pay rent and all that if I lavish my substance on victuals.” “How much do you spend a week on food?” “Never thought.” “Think then.” “Not I. Look! You haven’t seen this copy of ‘Erewhon,’ have you? It’s a first edition!” “I want you to answer my question.” He tossed his head petulantly. “Oh, don’t be like that,” he implored. “The world is peopled with folk who worry about these matters; let’s be away from them. You’ll want me to buy a dinner-gong next so that half the street may know I am sitting down to table.” “Perhaps I shall, for I want you to sit at table—regularly.” He caught the word “regularly,” and played tunes upon it. “I know,” said Eve, “and I like you for feeling that way—but you are fighting against nature—not convention—and that’s all wrong. We funny little things who walk about on the world must follow certain laws—we can’t help ourselves—and we may as well follow them sensibly. We have to lie down and get up and wash our faces and brush our hair and eat our dinners; we have to—if we didn’t we should accomplish nothing. It is foolish to fight with the ‘musts’ when there are armies of ‘needn’t be’s’ to draw the sword against.” He snorted derisively and ridiculed prosaic philosophy. When he had finished she calmly repeated her question. “How much do you spend a week on food?” Very reluctantly he produced a sheet of paper and a pencil and scribbled a rough estimate. “Will you give me the nine shillings and let me cater for you?” “No,” he said emphatically. “Please do.” “Why should I spend money on a dinner when I can stave off hunger with a stick of chocolate?” “Couldn’t we make a common fund and have one meal together each day. I’d cook it here.” His expression brightened instantly. “You would? You’d come each day?” “If you consent.” Hitherto her comings had been sporadic—too sporadic. He had felt, when she was absent, the consciousness of something lacking. “I should like you to come here every day,” he said. He was willing to accept a routine of her society, though rebelling against a time-table for meals. She smiled as the thought crossed her mind, but to have voiced it would have been to sacrifice the gains she had made. “If you consent,” she repeated. “All right; do what you will,” he said.