quieted down, as the better part of valor.

On this particular occasion Eunice had taken advantage of a
quiet, pleasant tete-a-tete to bring up the subject.

Embury had heard her pleading, not unkindly, but with a bored
air, and had finally remarked, as she paused in her arguments, "I
refuse, Eunice, to give you a stated allowance. If you haven't
sufficient confidence in your husband's generosity to trust him
to give you all you want or need, and even more than that, then
you are ungrateful for what I have given you. And that's my last
word on the subject."

The rank injustice of this was like iron entering her soul. She
knew his speech was illogical, unfair and even absurd, but she
knew no words of hers could make him see it so.

And in utter exasperation at her own impotence, she flung her
self-control to the winds, and let go of her temper.

"Well, it isn't my last word on the subject!" she cried. "I have
something further to say!"

"That is your woman's privilege," and Embury smiled irritatingly
at her.

"Not only my privilege, but my duty! I owe it to my
self-respect, to my social position, to my standing as your
wife--the wife of a prominent man of affairs--to have at my
command a sum of ready money when I need it. You know perfectly