"Oh, he did?" she snapped. "Well, he's just bought a new sport roadster that must have cost anyhow twenty-five hundred dollars."
He shook his head, unbelieving.
"I saw it," she insisted. "I heard him say he'd just bought it."
"He told me he was hard up," repeated Mather helplessly.
Jaqueline audibly gave up by heaving a profound noise, a sort of groanish sigh.
"He was using you! He knew you were easy and he was using you. Can't you see? He wanted you to buy him the car and you did!" She laughed bitterly. "He's probably roaring his sides out to think how easily he worked you."
"Oh, no," protested Mather with a shocked expression, "you must have mistaken somebody for him——"
"We walk—and he rides on our money," she interrupted excitedly. "Oh, it's rich—it's rich. If it wasn't so maddening, it'd be just absurd. Look here—!" Her voice grew sharper, more restrained—there was a touch of contempt in it now. "You spend half your time doing things for people who don't give a damn about you or what becomes of you. You give up your seat on the street-car to hogs, and come home too dead tired to even move. You're on all sorts of committees that take at least an hour a day out of your business and you don't get a cent out of them. You're—eternally—being used! I won't stand it! I thought I married a man—not a professional Samaritan who's going to fetch and carry for the world!"
As she finished her invective Jaqueline reeled suddenly and sank into a chair—nervously exhausted.
"Just at this time," she went on brokenly, "I need you. I need your strength and your health and your arms around me. And if you—if you just give it to every one, it's spread so thin when it reaches me——"