“With roses on it,” chanted Pegeen.
“With roses on it,” agreed Archibald.
“And a raincoat for rainy mornings—and stockings—and all sorts of things,” he ended vaguely.
“But they aren’t to come out of the coach money,” he added hastily. “Not a bit of it. They are extra. You are going to have five dollars a week and ‘found.’ ‘Found’ means hats with roses on them.”
Peg’s chin was nestled between her palms. Her eyes were beaming on him. Suddenly a cloud swept over them.
“If you please, sir,” she began and hesitated. The cloud of anxiety had drifted over the whole piquant face.
“If you please, sir,” she began again.
“Yes?” encouraged the man across the table.
“Are you sure you can afford it, sir?” It came out with a rush at last—“I’ve always heard that artists—I don’t really need the things. I’ve got plenty. I can get along first rate with just the shoes and aprons.”
Through Archibald’s mind drifted a fleeting memory of the last gift he had sent to Nadine Ransome. She loved emeralds and many men had given them to her. A dull flush came into his cheeks.