Dan put down the knife and the pear. "What's yours is mine, I thought," he observed, with a sorry affectation of cheeriness.
"Not on this occasion," Beth answered quietly, taking up the letter and opening it as she spoke. "This happens to be peculiarly my own."
"Why, it's a cheque," he rejoined, with an affectation of surprise. "What luck! I haven't been able to sleep for nights thinking of the butcher's bill."
"For shame!" Beth said, bantering—"talking about bills before your guest! But since you introduced the subject I may add that the butcher must wait. I want this myself. I am going to stay with Mrs. Kilroy at Ilverthorpe on Wednesday, and it will just cover my expenses."
"This is the first I have heard of the visit," Dan ejaculated.
"I only decided to go this afternoon," Beth replied.
"You decided without consulting me? Well—I'm damned if you shall go; I shall not allow it."
"The word 'allow' is obsolete in the matrimonial dictionary, friend Daniel," Beth rejoined good-humouredly.
"But you are bound to obey me."
"And I'm ready to obey you when you endow me with all your worldly goods," she said; then, suddenly dropping her bantering tone, she spoke decidedly: "I am going to stay with Mrs. Kilroy on Wednesday, understand that at once, and do not let us have any vulgar dispute about it."