"I don't expect anything."
"Every man expects something," Winifred interposed; "subconsciously he wants a hearth-woman. That's the primitive."
"I don't want a hearth-woman," Pip announced.
Dutton Ames chuckled. "You're a stone-age man, Meade. You'd like to woo with a club, and carry the day's kill to the woman in your tent."
A quick fire lighted Pip's eyes. "Jove, it wouldn't be bad, would it? What do you think, Eve?"
"I like your yacht better, and your chef and your alligator pears, and caviar."
An hour later Eve and Richard were alone on deck. The others had gone down. The lovers had preferred the moonlight.
"Eve, old lady," Richard said, "you know that even with Austin's help I'm not going to be a Cr[oe]sus. There won't be yachts—and chefs—and alligator pears."
"Jealous, Dicky?"
"No. But you've always had these things, Eve."