“My dear, what a fuss about nothing!” said Claude. “It isn’t as if it mattered to me whether I pay for his soup and cutlet——”
“No, that’s just it,” said Dora quickly. “That’s why you mustn’t. If it cost you something—— Oh, Claude, I don’t think I can make you understand,” she said. “Anyhow, I shall tell Jim what I think; and if the poor wretch hasn’t got any money, then I must pay.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose he’s got any money,” said Claude; “and as for your paying, my dear, what difference does that make? I give you your allowance—and I wish you’d say you wanted more, for Uncle Alf’s always wondering whether you’ve got enough—and you want to pay me out of that. Well, it’s only out of one pocket and into another. Don’t fuss about it, dear. I wish I hadn’t told you.”
“But it isn’t quite like that,” said Dora. “I could deny myself something in order to pay, if Jim can’t. I can tell them not to send me the dress——”
And then the hopelessness of it all struck her. She was in the same boat as her husband; she could not deny herself anything she wanted, because there was no need for self-denial. And without that she could not make atonement for Jim’s behaviour. Nor could she say to herself that he had done it without thinking; Jim always thought when there was a question of money, for that he took seriously. It was only his own conduct, his own character, and other little trifles of that sort for which he had so light a touch, so easy a rein. He had been giving little dinners at his flat, instead of dining out, as he usually did. He would never have done that if he thought he was going to pay for the quails and the peaches. That he should do it was the thing that was irremediable—that, and the contemptuous kindness of Claude.
Claude saw there was some feeling in her mind of which he did not grasp the force. She wanted to pay herself, or to think she paid, for Jim’s hospitalities. It did not make a pennyworth of difference. He would pay a cheque into her account, which would make her square again, and she would never notice it.
“Just as you like, dear,” he said; “but you mustn’t tell Jim you are doing it. He would think that I was reluctant to pay for his food and drinks; and I’m not. I can’t stand being thought mean. There’s no excuse for a fellow with plenty of shekels being mean.”
“Oh, you are not that,” said Dora quickly, her voice without volition following the train of thought in her mind.
“No, dear, I hope not,” said he. “And, believe me, I haven’t got two ill feelings to rub against each other with regard to Jim. It’s only by chance I knew. If there’d been another box of cigars in the flat, and a few more dozen champagne, Parker would never have come to me. As for the household books——why, dear, they’d have been sent up to you, and I bet you’d never have seen. No, it’s just a chance as has put us in the knowledge of it all, and I for one should hate to take advantage of it. So cheer up, dear! Pay me, if it makes you feel easier; but don’t say a word to Jim. I like doing a thing thoroughly, as I’m doing this.”