where he laid them.

"That's one of the things for us to settle, Sam," she said, in her new
freedom and self-respect discarding the familiar little diplomacies by
which she was used to soothe, prepare, manage, the lord of the hearth.
"I am not going to ask for money in the future, nor depend on what you
happen to give." The manner was a simple statement of fact. "You must
make me an allowance through your bookkeeper."

Sam was lounging through his cigar. "So that's it? Still?" He smiled
confidentially at the smoke, puffing it from his lower lip. "As
accurately as I can recollect, my dear, I have told you seven thousand
and three times that I am not on a salary, and don't know from month
to month what I will make."

How unchanged everything was! Her determination stiffened. "But you
know what you have made. Base it on the year before. Or have a written
statement mailed me every month, and file my signature at the bank."

Not quite unchanged; for Sam took the cigar from his mouth and turned
slowly to look at her. If he had taken her return for capitulation and
had met it according to his code, things were not fitting in. "Really,
my dear! Really! What next? Evidently I have never done you justice;
you have positive genius in the game--of monopoly; first thing,
_I'll_ be begging from _you_."

Well, why not, as fairly? and why should he think better of her than
of himself? But it was too old to go over again. For a breath she
waited to see her further way. She had not planned this as the issue,
but the moment was obviously crucial, and offered what, in