"There you go again."
"Ho! You really think I care about money?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, I don't. You say I care about things. So I do. But things have been a means to an end with me. Never mind that now. If you don't know yer luck in havin' Joe Quinney for a husband, he's too busy a man to learn ye. I want to talk about something else. This James Miggott's a bad lad. He's threatening me."
The word challenged Susan's attention.
"Threatening you, Joe? What about?"
Quinney's high colour deepened. Susan had cornered him. His voice became less masterful.
"Never you mind what about! He ain't goin' to down me that way."
Susan glanced sharply at her husband. He tried to meet her honest eyes, but failed. The impulse surged within him to confess, to ask forgiveness, to promise to run straight for the future. The horns of the dilemma pierced his vitals. How could he expose James without revealing himself stark naked to the wife whose good opinion was dearer to him than all the treasures in his sanctuary? She beheld him squirming, and hastened to draw the wrong conclusion. James, of course—gallant youth—had threatened to take Posy without her stockings. She said tartly:
"James is fighting for our Posy."