The conversation turned upon the voyage across.
“We had an awfully jolly crowd on board,” said De Peyster. “There were Emory and Eustis, who you say have just left you, and then there were three charming married women who insisted on my playing bridge with them every afternoon.”
“They did not have to insist very hard, did they, Ferdy?” interrupted Helen—“with your reputation for gallantry.”
Ferdinand smiled complacently. “Making up a fourth at bridge comes under the definition of ‘first aid to the wounded,’” he replied, “but I did not object at all to being the doctor. Their conversation was so clever, you know.”
“Clever conversation always helps good bridge,” Armstrong interrupted, dryly; but De Peyster was already deep in his story.
“One afternoon they had a discussion as to how large an allowance for personal expenses would make each one perfectly happy,—funny subject, wasn’t it? Well, one of them said ten thousand a year would take care of her troubles nicely; the second one was more modest and thought five thousand would do,—but what do you think my partner said? She was a demure little lady from Chicago and had only been married a year and a half.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense, Ferdy,” said Helen, as De Peyster yielded to the humor of his recollections.
“Truly, it was awfully funny,” he continued. “She looked rather frightened when the conversation began, and when they urged her to set a price she said, ‘I would be perfectly satisfied if I could afford to spend just what I am spending.’”
“She had a conscience—that is the only difference between her and the other women,” Armstrong commented.
“Perhaps,” added Helen; “but I’ll guarantee that in another year she will be getting a divorce from her husband on the ground of incompatibility of income.”