"But we _must_ bother. Ronnie, be frank with me. What _are_ we living on?" "Oh, all sorts of things. The Jermyn Street rent; my earnings, such as they are; a bit of money I'd got saved up." "And," she added, "the allowance your mother makes you. I wonder if we ought to take that." "I don't see why we shouldn't. She always has made me an allowance. But of course I shouldn't like to ask her for more." "Naturally." Aliette's brow creased. "Let's think. I've got about three hundred and fifty a year of my own. Your allowance is four. That makes seven hundred and fifty. How much is that a week?" "Fifteen pounds," laughed Ronnie, remembering a phrase of his mother's, "No woman's financial mind covers more than seven days." "And our hotel bill last week was twenty." At that, the man began to feel thoroughly uncomfortable. His mind shied away from the topic. But the woman pursued it resolutely. "We'll have to find a cheaper hotel." "It seems rotten luck on you; the present one is uncomfortable enough. Besides," he brightened visibly, "there ought to be briefs coming in now." "Man, you're a great optimist." There was an undercurrent of criticism in Aliette's voice, of a criticism which Ronnie felt he could not fairly resent; because already he had begun to divine the professional consequences of Brunton's enmity. Only the day before, James Wilberforce had dropped a hint--the barest hint, but sufficient to indicate which way the financial wind might blow. "I suppose I am rather an optimist," he admitted; and for the moment they dropped the subject, reverting, as they nearly always did in their walks together, to the main problem. "H. B. ought to be back any day now," said Ronnie, "and when he does come back, he'll simply _have_ to file his petition." But to-day she would have none of the problem. "Don't let us discuss that. After all, nothing that H. does or doesn't do can really hurt us." She looked up into his eyes. "We've got each other." "I don't mind for myself, Alie. It's you I'm thinking of. Of course we won't talk about him if you don't want to." By now they were through Kensington Gardens, and passing the herbaceous border at Victoria Gate. They stopped to inspect the flowers. Two gardeners were at work, clearing away the wreckage of summer. The climbing roses and the clematis had withered, but dahlias still flaunted scarlet and crimson against the high dark of the shrubbery. They walked on, silent, the dog pottering at heel; and inclined half-right across Hyde Park. "Do you remember----" began Aliette. "What, dear?" he prompted. "Oh, nothing. Only I was just thinking. Mollie and I came this way, that morning we met at church parade. It seems such a long time ago." "Am I as dull as all that?" he chaffed her. "Are you getting bored with me?"