"Yes."
"I hope you're happy."
"That's just it," Fargus said, seizing the opening, "that's the point. You put your finger on it without knowing it. I can't say I am happy—altogether happy."
"Well, let's hear about it," Bofinger said with bluff directness.
"The trouble is this," Fargus said doubtfully. "A woman has no idea of money, except to spend it and—you know yourself—it ain't easy to refuse one anything—particularly—well—when you're fond of her."
"Say, now, ain't this about it?" Bofinger said, abandoning his stilted accents for an air of rough and confidential understanding. "This is the trouble. You're in love with a pretty woman, a remarkably pretty and charming woman—a whole lot in love. Now she, like a woman, a pretty woman, thinks more of pleasure than you do, wants to be out and seeing and wants to be out and be seen."
"Yes," Fargus assented, and with a sigh he echoed faintly, "yes."
"And she probably thinks that you're much better off than you are," Bofinger said with a wise nod.