“If you go on saving that way,” said he, “we'll be in the hands of a receiver by Christmas. I can't see any difference between buying one suit from Ridley—whoever he may be—and three from Lily Dallam's 'little man,' except that you spend more than three times as much money.”
“Oh, I didn't get three!—I never thought you could be so unjust, Howard. Surely you don't want me to dress like these Rivington women, do you?”
“I can't see anything wrong with their clothes,” he maintained.
“And to think that I was doing it all to please you!” she cried reproachfully.
“To please me!”
“Who else? We-we don't know anybody in New York. And I wanted you to be proud of me. I've tried so hard and—and sometimes you don't even look at my gowns, and say whether you like them and they are all for you.”
This argument, at least, did not fail of results, combined as it was with a hint of tears in Honora's voice. Its effect upon Howard was peculiar—he was at once irritated, disarmed, and softened. He put down his cigarette—and Honora was on his knee! He could not deny her attractions.
“How could you be so cruel, Howard?” she asked.
“You know you wouldn't like me to be a slattern. It was my own idea to save money—I had a long talk about economy one day with Mrs. Holt. And you act as though you had such a lot of it when we're in town for dinner with these Rivington people. You always have champagne. If—if you're poor, you ought to have told me so, and I shouldn't have ordered another dinner gown.”
“You've ordered another dinner gown!”