XXII
In December, our balance at the Bank was overdrawn.
Walter came in with his face all white and tense. He threw the pass-book on the table in front of me.
‘There,’ he said. ‘Overdrawn at last. I have been expecting this.’
I felt as though he had hit me, his voice was hostile; he looked as though he hated me.
I said:
‘Walter, I am sorry; I have done my best.’
‘I can’t understand it. Other women manage, why can’t you? Other women on smaller incomes than ours; my mother did.’
I said:
‘I know they do.’