She tossed her head. “What nonsense!” she exclaimed. “You're not out of a job, as you call it. You are a writer and a famous writer. You have written one book and you are going to write more. Besides, you must have made heaps of money from The Lances. Every one has been reading it.”
When he told her the amount of his royalty check she expressed the opinion that the publisher must have cheated. It ought to have been ever and ever so much more than that. Such wonderful poems!
The next day she went to Brett's and purchased a half dozen of the most expensive ties, which she presented to him forthwith.
“There!” she demanded. “Aren't those nicer than the ones you bought at that old department store? Well, then!”
“But, Madeline, I must not let you buy my ties.”
“Why not? It isn't such an unheard-of thing for an engaged girl to give her fiance a necktie.”
“That isn't the idea. I should have bought ties like those myself, but I couldn't afford them. Now for you to—”
“Nonsense! You talk as if you were a beggar. Don't be so silly.”
“But, Madeline—”
“Stop! I don't want to hear it.”