"Why do you say that, Bert?" she might ask, with violent self-
control.

"Nothing, my dear, nothing!" Bert would return to his newspaper,
or his razor. "I was just thinking. No matter!"

Nancy would stand, eyeing him sulphurously.

"But just what do you mean, Bert?" she would pursue. "Do you mean
that you don't think I should have gotten the suit? I can't wear
that fur-trimmed suit into the summer, you know. The hat was
eighteen dollars--do you think there's another woman in the
Gardens who pays no more than that? Lots of men haven't four
lovely children and a home to support, they haven't wives who make
all their friends welcome, as I do. Perhaps you feel that they are
better off? If you don't--I don't see what you have to complain
about. ..." And she would take her own way of punishing him for
his air of detachment and superiority. Bert was not blameless,
himself. It was all very well for Bert to talk of economy and
self-denial, but Bert himself paid twelve dollars a pair for his
golf-shoes, and was the first man at the club to order champagne
at the dance suppers.

Smouldering with indignation, Nancy would shrug off her
misgivings. Why should she hesitate over furs and new hangings for
the study and the present for the Appletons, when Bert was so
reckless? It would all be paid for, somehow.

"And why should I worry," Nancy asked herself, "and try to save a
few cents here and there, when Bert is simply flinging money right