"I suppose that was my fault?"
"Don't you know enough to cut the engine when you're done?"
"I wasn't done. I had to answer the phone, didn't I?"
George threw up his hands. "So all right. So you left it running and it went right through Charlie's fence."
"Sometimes," Rosy said, putting down the magazine, "you exasperate me, George. I told you, I put it in neutral or whatever it is."
"You put it in high and let it run through Charlie's fence."
Rosy looked at him as at a bad tomato. "Why," she said, "do I get blamed every time something mechanical goes wrong?"
But they kissed and made up because it was the night before their third wedding anniversary.
At the breakfast table next morning George gave her the diamond cocktail ring she'd drooled over. Rosy gave him the self-winding time piece he'd slobbered over in Cellini's window. Dear girl, had the courage to get it for nothing down and thirty-six months to pay.