He nodded, encouraging—“A muff and fur and a little fur cap that I wanted—so much—for Mary—and overcoats for the boys—they’re so shabby—and your hat is really not fit, you know—” She was looking up now and smiling and checking them off—He stopped her with a gesture.
“You are to spend it on yourself,” he said almost harshly.
“On myself—! Why do you say that?” She almost confronted him—as if she caught her breath—“You never have things and you always get out of spending things on yourself.” He half muttered the words.
“Oh—oh—! I shall get something for myself. You will see!”
He held out his hand. He was a good man of business. No one got far ahead of him.—“When you have bought the dress I will pay for it,” he said. “Give them to me. I cannot trust you with them.”
She looked at him—and at the bills—and they dropped from her hand into his slowly and her arms fell; her shoulders rose and trembled and the hands covered her face. She was weeping, deep, silent sobs—
He bent over her—ashamed. “You must not do that,” he said. “You needn’t feel bad. I wanted you to have it—”