'You don't mean to tell me that you've given your salary away?'
'Yes, dear.'
Mrs Clinton groaned.
'Oh, you're dotty!... I can understand giving a threepenny bit, or even sixpence, at the offertory on Sunday at church, and of course one 'as to give Christmas-boxes to the tradesmen; but to give your whole salary away! 'Aven't you got anything left?'
'No!'
'You—you aggravating fool! And I'll be bound you gave it to lazy loafers and tramps and Lord knows what!'
Mr Clinton did not answer; his wife walked rapidly backwards and forwards, wringing her hands.
'Well, look here, James,' she said at last. 'It's no use crying over spilt milk; but from this day you just give me your salary the moment you receive it. D'you hear? I tell you I will not 'ave any more of your nonsense.'
'I shall get no more salaries,' he quietly remarked.
Mrs Clinton looked at him; he was quite calm, and smilingly returned her glance.