“Isn’t it enough?”
Brent looked at her quickly.
“I don’t take your money.”
She flourished the note.
“There you are! How logical! And I don’t take your money, Paul, so there is the end of it.”
Paul answered her with a slow, uneasy smile.
“That is all very well, but a man can’t live on a woman.”
And then she scolded him with a sudden fierceness that made Brent think that she was angry.
“Do not be so foolish; you are not living on me. What should I do if I had no one to help me here? Think. Men who can use their hands and their heads are going to be little gods in a place like Beaucourt. Men are scarce in France; we have lost so many of them and there is so much to do. Are we partners, or are we not? If we are partners I pay you good money, and you pay me for what I buy for you; and if you quarrel about the money, mon Dieu, I will give you the sack!”
They burst out laughing—both of them—at the idea of Paul being sacked.