"I was proposing to give her two hundred and fifty a year for her private and personal expenses," he said.
Mrs. Hancock's smile completely faded.
"Yes," she said, "yes."
"I gather from your tone that you are not satisfied?" said he.
There was a short, rather unpleasant pause. Then she assumed an air of confiding candour.
"I did expect, dear Edward," she said, "that you would make a rather larger allowance than that for her. It is no use my denying it. And would you mind not smoking another cigarette just yet? The air is getting quite thick. Now, just as you have told me quite frankly what you think of my provision for Edith, so I will tell you. There is nothing like a perfectly frank talk for getting over difficulties. All her life dear Edith has had a very handsome allowance from me, with really nothing to spend it on except a dress or a pair of boots. I don't deny that I have often stinted myself so as not to stint her, but what her mother has done, that, I think, her husband should do. I don't think you consider how many more calls a married woman has on her purse than a girl living at home—all the running up to London to get household necessities for you, all the greater expenditure on dress that a married woman must make beyond what a girl requires. Indeed, I don't see how Edith can manage it on the sum you mention."
Edward's sympathy with Mrs. Hancock's childlike pleasure evaporated. He did not believe for a moment that the "very handsome allowance" given her by her mother amounted to anything like the sum he proposed. He knew also that the sum he proposed was a very reasonable one.
"If you would tell me how much she has hitherto spent," he said, "I should have some guide."
This Mrs. Hancock did not in the least wish to do.
"I do not mean to say that dear Edith is extravagant," said she, "but there is a great deal of difference between extravagance and counting every penny. There has been no need for her to do that; she is not accustomed to it."