"Poor darling! I ought to have been there to protect you. But she vowed she would have her say about that house."
He looked down upon her, trying to see her expression in the shifting light. He had gone through a disagreeable little scene with his mother at breakfast. She had actually lectured him on the rashness of taking the Brook Street house!—he understanding the whole time that what the odd performance really meant was, that if he took it he would have a smaller margin of income wherefrom to supplement her allowance.
"Oh, it was all right!" said Letty, composedly. "She declared we should get into difficulties at once, that I could have no idea of the value of money, that you always had been extravagant, that everybody would be astonished at our doing such a thing, etcetera, etcetera. I think—you don't mind?—I think she cried a little. But she wasn't really very unhappy."
"What did you say?"
"Well, I suggested that when we were married, we and she should both set up account-books; and I promised faithfully that if she would let us see hers, we would let her see ours."
George threw back his head with a gurgle of laughter.
"Well?"
"She was afraid," said Letty, demurely, "that I didn't take things seriously enough. Then I asked her to come and see my gowns."
"And that, I suppose, appeased her?"
"Not at all. She turned up her nose at everything, by way of punishing me. You see, she had on a new-Worth—the third since Christmas. My poor little trousseau rags had no chance."