"What you mean is," she said, "that you simply can't get on without me. Isn't that it?"
"If you put it in that way," I said, "you can't expect me to admit it."
"Well, it comes to that, doesn't it?"
"What I mean to say is that it's your fault."
"Aha," she said triumphantly, "I knew you'd mean to say that sooner or later. Everything's my fault, of course."
"It is," I said, "an arguable proposition."
"And how do you prove it in this particular case?"
"Easily," I said. "You have neglected to train me for the daily work of a household and a family."
"You never asked to be trained," she said.
"No," I said, "I was too proud and too sensitive. I did not come to you and say, 'Let me beard the cook in her fastness. Let me order the sirloin of beef for the mid-day meal. Let me rebuke the housemaid, or raise her wages, or give her notice,' or whatever it is that one does in the case of a housemaid. I did not ask that I too might be allowed to talk bulbs or Alpine plants to the gardener. I did not plead that I might order dresses or medicine for the girls, or watch over John's putting to bed. All these things, because you were haughty about them, I left to you; and you—what did you do?"