She laughed, and the laugh belonged to her old self.
"Indeed! I thought that I was explicit enough, brutally explicit, even. What have you to offer me in place of your name and yourself? What sacrifice are you prepared to make?"
He looked at her furtively, as though even then he doubted the significance of her words.
"You have already half my income," he said, slowly.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"A thousand a year! What can one do on that? To live decently in town one needs much more."
"It is as much as I can offer," he remarked, stiffly.
"Then you should earn money," she declared. "It's easy enough for men with brains. Go back into politics instead of idling your time away down in Blakely. I mean it! I've no patience with men who have a right to a place in the world which they won't fill."
"Surely," he remonstrated, "I may be allowed to choose the manner of my life!"
"If you can afford to—yes," she answered. "But I want one of two things. The first seems to scare you to death even to think of. The second is more money—a good deal more money."