In other words, Trampy, according to her, was a Jonah, good only for playing the people in, if that!
“A wife has no right to speak to her husband as you do!” exclaimed Trampy, leaping up under the insult. “You deserve a good thrashing!”
“None of that!” said Lily angrily, ready to fly at his throat.
“A wife,” resumed Trampy, with great dignity, “helps her husband, instead of insulting him.”
“We’re in for it, I suppose!” said Lily.
“Certainly, we’re in for it! I have no engagement now, but that’s no reason why you shouldn’t find one. Look for one and work!”
Lily was in for it, knee-deep, as she said. She was not excessively astonished: it was the inevitable end! Not that she disliked to work: her idleness, on the contrary, was beginning to pall upon her; but it was the humiliation of going back to it after putting on so much side and posing as the lady. She had worked for Pa; now she would work for Trampy; it was natural and proper. There were exceptions—the wife at home, as Jimmy said, that josser!—but they were rare.
“Take up your bike again,” said Trampy, after a pause. “Be a good little wife, help me out of this. I have something in my mind, a scheme which will make us rich; you’ll see later on.”
“But,” said Lily, “I haven’t a stage bike, and yours is really too ugly.”
“I know of one for sale.”