The young woman glanced at him again, and said in a lower voice:
‘You’d have had more by now, if—’
Crewe waited, puffing his cigar, but she did not finish.
‘Maybe,’ he replied impartially. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Don’t think I’m sorry,’ Beatrice hastened to add. ‘It was an idea, like any other.’
‘Not half a bad idea. But there were obstacles.’
After a pause, Beatrice inquired:
‘Do you still think the same about women with money?’
‘Just the same,’ Crewe replied at once, though with less than his usual directness; the question seemed to make him meditative. ‘Just the same. Every man looks at it in his own way, of course. I’m not the sort of chap to knuckle under to my wife; and there isn’t one woman in a thousand, if she gave her husband a start, could help reminding him of it. It’s the wrong way about. Let women be as independent as they like as long as they’re not married. I never think the worse of them, whatever they do that’s honest. But a wife must play second fiddle, and think her husband a small god almighty—that’s my way of looking at the question.’
Beatrice laughed scornfully.