"Did I ever tell you," she asked with pride, "that I have money of my own?"
"Hurrah!" I shouted. "You darling! How splendid!"
"Jimmy," she said apprehensively, "you aren't marrying me for it, are you?"
"How can I tell till I know how much you've got?"
"Well, at a pound a day it would take us to February 19th. You'd have to begin from there."
"What an heiress! Promise you'll never cast it in my teeth, dear, that I've got less than you. I've got enough War Loan to take us on to the 23rd and halfway through the 24th; and Exchequer Bonds and things which will see us through—er—to about 7.15 P.M. on March 31st. Then there's my writing."
"Oh," she said in a surprised tone "do they pay you for that? I always thought you gave them so much a line to put things in—like advertisements, you know."
"Madam," I answered with dignity, "when you find yourself, from April 1st until April 20th, depending each year upon my pen for the very bread you eat, perchance you will regret those wounding words."
"Well, what else?"
I shook my head.