"While we are on the subject of intimate family affairs, Bessie," he addressed his wife casually, "I may as well say that I shall have to call on you for some funds—about thirty thousand dollars. Forty thousand would be better."
Mrs. Gower stiffened to attention. She regarded her husband with an air of complete disapproval, slightly tinctured with surprise.
"Oh," she said, "really?"
"I shall need that much properly to undertake this season's operations," he stated calmly, almost indifferently.
"Really?" she repeated. "Are you in difficulties again?"
"Again?" he echoed. "It is fifteen years since I was in a corner where I needed any of your money."
"It seems quite recent to me," Mrs. Gower observed stiffly.
"Am I to understand from that that you don't care to advance me whatever sum I require?" he asked gently.
"I don't see why I should," Mrs. Gower replied after a second's reflection, "even if I were quite able to do so. This place costs something to keep up. I can't very well manage on less than two thousand a month. And Betty and I must be clothed. You haven't contributed much recently, Horace."
"No? I had the impression that I had been contributing pretty freely for thirty years," Gower returned dryly. "I paid the bills up to December. Last season wasn't a particularly good one—for me."