"Why I -- I got some money; that is, my wife
has."

She dismissed, with an impatient gesture, the distinction.
"Money is life," she continued, with a
perceptible, envious longing, "it's freedom, all the
things worth having. It makes women -- it's their
leather boxes full of rings and pins and necklaces,
their dresses of all-over lace, their silk and hand
scalloped and embroidered underclothes; it's their
fascination and chance and power--"

"I would like to see you in some of those lace
things," he returned.

"Well, get them for me," she answered hardily.

Utterly unprepared for this direct attack he was
thoroughly disconcerted. "Why, certainly!" he replied,
laboriously polite, "the next time -- I'll do it!
-- when I'm in Stenton again I'll bring you a pair
of silk stockings."

"Black," she said practically, "and size eight
and a half. You will like me in black silk stockings,"
she added enigmatically.

"I'll bet," he replied with enthusiasm. "I won't
wait to go, but send for them. You would make
the dollars dance. You are different from--" he
was going to say Lettice, but, instinctively, he
changed it to, "the women around here. You've
got an awful lot of ginger to you."

"I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to pay

[[194]]

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