“Supposing my husband treated me like a dog.”
“I’m quite sure he wouldn’t,” said Bagot.
“He wouldn’t do it twice,” said Spring sweetly.
“The point is,” said Willoughby, swallowing, “that companions can be given notice, but wives can’t.”
“Wives can’t give notice, either.”
“I’ve heard of its being done.”
“Then you advise me to take my precious offer and thank my stars.”
“How can I? But I can point out that a girl in your present position is up against it. You can’t get away from that. Think. You depend for the bread you eat upon somebody else’s whim. I bet you’ve never saved. You haven’t had time. And so, you see, it’s vital that, if you can improve your position—scramble on to firmer ground—you should. Well, you’ve got a roaring chance. He’s rich, of course, and a white man—two pretty good points, you know. I don’t suggest that, if you were not a companion, you couldn’t have half London at your feet; but, as it is, my lady, you don’t get a show. So that this chance that’s come your way may never come by again. If you were rich, I should tell you to please your heart. As it is, you don’t dislike him, you’ve no reason to think he won’t do you slap up—I’m perfectly certain he will—and so I simply suggest you should please your head.”
“Which do you do?” said Spring.
“I’m a man.”