"I have to go to business in the morning," she pleaded.
"If I had my way you wouldn't go to business at all."
"If I had my way I wouldn't either," she rejoined, smilingly. But his youthful visage remained sober and flushed. And when they were seated in the limousine and the fur rug enveloped them both, he said abruptly:
"I'm getting tired of this business."
"What business, Clive?"
"Everything—the way you live—your inadequate quarters—your having to work all day long in that stuffy office, day after day, year after year!"
She said, surprised and perplexed: "But it can't be helped, Clive! I have to work."
"Why?"
"What do you mean?"