"My screw doesn't come in till the end of the week," Osborn explained.
He flushed and for the first time looked at her a little haughtily.

"I'm sorry," she murmured; "perhaps we ought to make some arrangement
and I'll keep to it."

"That's it," he said, still slightly uncomfortable; "now look here,
dearie--"

"I'll get my account book and put it down."

"Does she have an account book?" said Osborn more lightly. "How
knowing!"

Marie brought a book, and opened it upon her knee, and sat, pencil
poised. She was very earnest. "How much ought we to spend?"

"You know what my screw is," said Osborn, as if unwilling to
particularise.

Marie wrote at the top of her page, "Two hundred pounds."

"Forty pounds rent," she wrote next.

"And my odd expenses, lunch and clothes, and so on," said Osborn,
"have never been less than sixty or seventy pounds, you know."

She wrote slowly. "Sixty to seventy pounds, expenses," when he stopped
her.