They sipped their coffee in silence broken only by the crackling of the newspaper. Then, pushing it away, he set down his cup and leaned back against the pillows, his hands behind his head. A moment had arrived in which she could talk to him, and behind her carefully casual manner her nerves tightened.
"It was pretty good coffee," she remarked. "You know, I think it would be fun if we had a real place, with a breakfast-room, don't you? Then we'd have grape-fruit and hot muffins and all that sort of thing, too. I'd like to have a place like that. And then we'd have parties," she added hastily. "We could keep them going all night long if we wanted to in our own place."
He yawned.
"Dream on, little one," he said. But his voice was pleasant.
"Now listen, dear. I really mean it. We could do it. It wouldn't be a bit more trouble to you than a hotel, really. I'd see that it wasn't. I really want it awfully badly. I know you'd like it if you'd just let me try it once. You don't know how nice I'd make it for you."
His silence was too careless to be antagonistic, but he was listening. She was encouraged.
"You don't realize how much time I have when you're gone. I could keep a house running beautifully, and you'd never even see the wheels go round. I—"
"A house!" He was aroused. "Great Scott, doesn't it cost enough for the two of us to live as it is? Don't you make my life miserable whining about bills?"
The color came into her cheeks, but she had never risked letting herself feel resentment at anything he chose to say. She laughed quite naturally. "My goodness!" she said. "You're talking as if I were a puppy! I've never whined a single whine; it's the howling of the collectors you've heard. Let 'em howl; it's good enough for 'em! No, but really, sweetheart, please just let me finish. I've thought it all out. You don't know what a good manager I am." She hurried on, forestalling the words on his lips. "You don't know how much I want to be just a little bit of help. I can't be much, I know. But I'm sure I could save money—"
"Old stuff!" he interrupted. "It isn't the money you save; it's the money you make that counts."