He never suspected that ninety-nine percent of her difficulties were imaginary, and that she had invented them as soon as she saw his face. A week later, the contractor brought in still another schedule, and another estimate; Henry became Chesterfieldian in his politeness, and wanted to know if a contract were a contract, or merely a piece of light literature. The contractor was apologetic, but wages were going up--materials were high--labour was scarce--transportation was uncertain--shipments were slow-- Henry was angry and disillusioned, but he knew that belligerence would gain him nothing. "In other words," he said, genially, "there's something the matter with everything but the Orpheum, and everybody but me. I congratulate myself. Well, when I do get the job finished, and what does it cost--not to a minute and a fraction of a cent, of course, but a general idea--what year, and--" "Mr. Devereux!" "And a guess that's within say, a couple of thousand dollars of the real price." "I hope you don't think _I_'m making any big profit out of this. To tell the truth--" "Oh, _I_ know," said Henry. "You're losing money. Don't deny it, you eleemosynary rascal, don't deny it." The man felt himself insulted, but Henry was smiling, and of course that strange word might be something technical. "Well, to tell the truth, we--" "Come on, now. I know you're an altruist, but be a sport. You're losing money, and the children are moaning with hunger in their little trundle-beds, but when do I get the job done?" "The second week in September." "_This_ September? And the bill?" "Shaved down so close there's hardly any--" "Shave it every morning; it's being done. But what's your figure?" "Seventy-six fifty." There was nothing for Henry to do but to have a new date painted on the sign, and to draw on his reserve fund, but at bottom he was vastly perturbed. He had counted on a running start, and every week of delay was a vicious handicap. If he had remotely imagined how elastic a contractor's agreement could be, he would certainly have thought twice about ordering so many changes--he would have steered a middle course, and been satisfied with half the improvement--but as it was, he had put himself in a trap. Now that the work was partly done, it would have to be completed. There was no way out of it. And from day to day, as the arrears of labour heaped up, and cost was piled on cost, Henry began to lose a trifle of his fine buoyancy and optimism. Also, it was amazing to discover that Anna was much less self-reliant than he had thought her. Almost every night she displayed some unsuspected trait of helplessness, so that he simply had to shelve his worries, and baby her out of her own. He adored her, and therefore he never questioned her ingenuousness; he didn't see that by monopolizing his thoughts, and turning them entirely upon herself, she prevented him from wasting his energy in futile brooding, even if he had inclined to it.