“I think,” he said, curtly, “you look like a woman on a poster, and not a reputable woman at that.”
“That is hardly a nice thing to say of one’s wife——” she began, when he interrupted her.
“Look here, Deena, I have work to do before tea, and the discussion of your appearance is hardly important enough to keep publishers waiting. Oblige me by taking off that dress before I see you again. Where did you get it—if I may ask?”
“Polly gave it to me,” she answered, and was astonished to find a lump in her throat, a sudden desire to burst into tears.
“Then Polly was guilty of an impertinence you should have resented instead of accepting. Ben Minthrop’s money may dress his own wife, but not mine. Let it go for this time, but never again subject me to such an indignity.”
“But she didn’t give me the hat, Simeon,” said poor Deena, who knew it was now or never.
“And who furnished you with the hat?” he asked, insultingly.
“I meant to ask you to,” she said, and a tear escaped and splashed on the lapel of her new coat, “but never mind, I will find some means to pay for it myself.” And she moved toward the door, wounded pride expressed in every line of her retreating figure.
“Come back, if you please,” he called. “This is childish folly. How can you pay when you have no money except what I give you? I am responsible for your debts, and as you have taken advantage of that fact, I have no choice but to pay. This must never occur again. How much is it?”
“I—I don’t know,” faltered Deena, struggling with her emotion.