This looked bad for Flo; her reason for his staying was his own reason for wishing himself away. Henry was horridly honest and absurdly upright to be a newspaper editor in a thriving provincial town. "I tell you frankly," he went on, while Flo walked now in moody silence by his side, "I could never settle down in Laysford. Any ass with money is courted here." "And it's the same everywhere; the same in London," she snapped. "Perhaps; only in London you can avoid the society of the money-grubbers, and find a congenial clime where the foul element does not enter. You see, London isn't a town; it's a country, and there are communities of kindred interests within its borders." "How do you know?" "Well, I can gather as much from my inquiries, and from what I read." "A lot of use that is. I know it's fearfully expensive to live in London." "But one can make more money." "I thought you despised money-grubbing." "For the mere sake of the grubbing, yes. But where it costs more to live there is usually more to live for, and more means of earning the necessary cash." "Money; you simply can't get away from it, yet you sneer at the wealthy folk here. You only wish you had half of their complaint, as the thirsty cabby said of the drunk who was supposed to be ill." Flo laughed aridly at her simile, without looking her companion in the face. Henry felt irritated by her as never before. But his teeth were set. Both kept silence for a time. "Of course you never think of me," said Flo at length, trailing her sunshade among the pebbles. "That's just what I do, though." "How kind of you!" The sneer froze Henry like a sudden frost. "Men are such unselfish things, to be sure," she went on; the ice thickening rapidly. Henry had really thought a great deal about her, and not without some misgivings. He had seen himself a successful worker in Fleet Street, with a dainty house out Hampstead way--he did not know where that might be, but he thought it was the literary quarter--and Flo looking her best as mistress of that home, with many a notable personage for guest. But he had also moments when he wondered if he were not a fool to bother his head about her, and when she said, "How kind of you!" he was glad they were not married yet. For all that, if Flo insisted, he supposed it would have to be, though there had been no arrangement in so many binding words. He was inclined to let her have to insist, however; and if she did--why, life would be ever after the making the best of a bad job. Not a healthy condition of love, it will be perceived. As they were nearing the Wintons' again, Henry thawed a little. "Wouldn't you really like to live in London, Flo?" he said. "Perhaps, and perhaps not. No doubt I would. But what I don't like--and I may as well be frank about it--is living here and you in London." "Ah, but that need not be for long," Henry returned kindly. "So you say. But one never knows."