Miriam raised her eyebrows inquiringly at the question before stooping to put out the spirit-lamp.
"Well, what about it?" she asked, without looking up.
"Oh, nothing—except that we don't seem to be securing it."
She gazed at him now, with an expression frankly puzzled. He had refused tea, but she kept her accustomed place behind the tea-table, while he stretched himself comfortably in the low arm-chair by the hearth, which she often occupied herself.
"Don't you remember?" he went on. "Evie's happiness was the motive of our little—agreement."
He endeavored to make his tone playful, but there was a something sharp and aggressive in his manner, at which she colored slightly, no less than at his words.
"I suppose," she said, as if after meditation, "Evie's happiness isn't in our hands."
"True; but there's a good deal that is in our hands. There's, for example—our own."
"Up to a point—yes."
"And up to that point we should take care of it. Shouldn't we?"