"Don't fret yourself, kitten. I'll give it to you. But—"
Osborn put down his coffee cup in a final way.
"The fact is, Marie, you see—I don't want you to think me mean—"
"Oh, Osborn!"
"No, but the fact is, it just happens I'm able to give it to you to-day, because I've got a little in the bank. But our honeymoon and the first instalments on the furniture and your engagement ring ran through most of it, and—and so there's only a little left—about twenty pounds or so. My people lived on an annuity, you know; they only left me savings. Well, I thought it seemed snug to keep a balance of twenty pounds or so for emergencies, you know. But I'll draw a cheque on it for you with pleasure. Two pounds ten? All right."
"But, Osborn," said Marie, wide-eyed, "can't you give it to me out of your—"
"My screw doesn't come in till the end of the week," Osborn explained. He flushed and for the first time looked at her a little haughtily.
"I'm sorry," she murmured; "perhaps we ought to make some arrangement and I'll keep to it."
"That's it," he said, still slightly uncomfortable; "now look here, dearie—"
"I'll get my account book and put it down."