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“Well, if you must know, it was this—and this—and this——” wailed Claire, as she poked the tip of her spoon into the top of her sandwich, the whipped cream on her chocolate and the powdered sugar heaped in the silver bowl.

“The high cost of living—money, dirty, sordid, hideously essential money. We can’t live on Jimmy’s income, and he’s too proud to let father give me even my ridiculous little allowance after we are married. He says he’ll support his own wife and his own house, or he doesn’t want either. And, do you know, he doesn’t draw any more money out of the firm each month than my father pays for the upkeep of our limousine? Can you picture me trying to stretch forty dollars a week to provide everything—everything—for Jimmy and me?”

“You could learn, dear,” suggested Mrs. Larry, with a secret thrill at the thought of her own housewifely abilities.

“That’s what Jimmy said, but when we figured it all out, from house rent to cravats for Jimmy, crediting me incidentally with being the experienced housewife I am not, there wasn’t five cents left for insurance, the savings fund or the simplest recreation, let alone luxuries. In his profession, Jimmy’d just have to keep up appearances on the outside, if we had to live on oatmeal gruel and dried apples in the privacy of our apartment. I tried to persuade Jimmy to let father loan him a few thousand, just for the good of his career. He accused me of trying to weaken his character. He said I could learn how to manage, if I really loved him. And I told him if he waited until I knew how to manage a house on forty dollars a week, he’d forget how to love me.”