"Then it's no different because you're married. It's your money,
Billy."

"Not by a damn sight," he cried. "It ain't mine. It's ourn. And I
wouldn't think of lettin' anybody have it without seein' you
first."

"I hope you didn't tell him that," she said with quick concern.

"Nope," Billy laughed. "I knew, if I did, you'd be madder'n a
hatter. I just told him I'd try an' figure it out. After all, I
was sure you'd stand for it if you had it."

"Oh, Billy," she murmured, her voice rich and low with love;
"maybe you don't know it, but that's one of the sweetest things
you've said since we got married."

The more Saxon saw of Mercedes Higgins the less did she
understand her. That the old woman was a close-fisted miser,
Saxon soon learned. And this trait she found hard to reconcile
with her tales of squandering. On the other hand, Saxon was
bewildered by Mercedes' extravagance in personal matters. Her
underlinen, hand-made of course, was very costly. The table she
set for Barry was good, but the table for herself was vastly
better. Yet both tables were set on the same table. While Barry
contented himself with solid round steak, Mercedes ate
tenderloin. A huge, tough muttonchop on Barry's plate would be
balanced by tiny French chops on Mercedes' plate. Tea was brewed
in separate pots. So was coffee. While Barry gulped twenty-five