She drew away from him, and he knew that in some subtle way he had pained her. He could not clearly divine that she felt there was something remotely wrong, almost criminal, in his assuming money could be so easily earned. But it must have been some vague sense of her feeling that prompted him to add: “I’ll have to work like the devil, dear. But it will be worth fighting for.” He sighed heavily. “And then when we get the money,” he went on whimsically, “we’ll be in a position to laugh at the people we’re afraid of now. We’ll go and live plainly in the country as soon as we can afford to pretend that we’re poor.” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t be happy, Douglas,” she said simply, and he felt a pang. It was as if her look had penetrated his inner consciousness. “We must go on as we’ve begun.” He knew that what she meant was wholly in unison with his own thought; but, for an instant, he felt the sinister interpretation; it was almost like a judgment on him. But he quickly recognized his injustice, and he walked over to her and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Do you love me, Helen?” he asked, looking into her eyes. “Yes, Douglas,” she replied, and he detected the note of pain in her voice. She leaned toward him. “I love you always, Douglas, always.” He held her closely in his arms. “My poor little wife,” he said, but he hardly knew why he should have felt pathos in the situation. She drew away from him and he saw the tears in her eyes. “I’m a hard man to live with in some ways, Helen,” he said with a sincerity that astonished him. It made her respond at once. “Oh, no, Douglas!” she exclaimed, in a clear voice, that told him she had recovered from her little emotional attack and had become her wholesome self again. With his habit of generalizing he instantly reflected that it must be a terrible thing for a man to live with an emotional woman. That night it was arranged that the Burrell girls, instead of going home with their father and mother, should go to Mrs. Briggs for the Winter. Burrell insisted upon putting the matter on the most rigid business basis, and offered Helen Briggs a recompense in money that she considered wholly out of proportion to what was just. Briggs maintained in the discussion an air of jocular remoteness and, in spite of Helen’s objection, Burrell established his own conditions. When they had finally left the house, Briggs tried to give the matter a comic aspect by telling his wife that he knew the old lady expected her to get husbands for the two girls. “I suppose we’ll have the house filled with young scamps of fortune-hunters,” he said. “You’ll have a fine time chaperoning the poor girls.” Helen knew that he was trying to hide the chagrin he felt. “I really sha’n’t mind, Douglas,” and she was sorry she could not tell him in words how happy it made her to be able to help him. But she had to be careful now not to hurt the pride that she could see quivering beneath his air of humorous indifference.