Clementina, who had been pale at first, had coloured crimson.
"You know better than I."
"Why better? You ought to know the amount of your fortune."
"Well, but I do not know," she replied, sharply.
"Nothing can be more simple. The six hundred thousand dollars which your father paid over when we were married, being invested in real estate, produce, as you may see by the books, about twenty-two thousand dollars a year. The expenses of the house, without counting my private outlay, amounts to about three times as much. You can surely draw your own conclusions."
"If you are vexed at your money being spent you can sell the houses," said Clementina with scornful brevity, her colour fading to paleness again.
"But if they were sold I should none the less be responsible for the whole value. You know that?"
"I will sign you any paper you like, saying that I hold you responsible for nothing."
"That is not enough, my dear. The law will never release me from responsibility for your fortune, so long as I have any money. Moreover, if you spend it in pleasure"—and he emphasised the word—"it may be all very well for you, but deplorable for me, because I shall still be compelled to supply you with—necessaries."
"To keep me, in short?" she said with a bitter intonation.