naught without much protest. Martin was so quietly domineering,
so stubbornly persistent--and always so plausible--oh, so
plausible! --that there was no resisting him. Only when it came
to the fireplace did she make a last stand. She felt that it
would be such a friendly spirit in the house. She pictured Martin
and herself sitting beside it in the winter evenings.

"A house without one is like a place without flowers," she
explained to him.

"It's a mighty dirty business," he answered tersely. "You would
have to track the coal through the rest of the house and you'd
have all those extra ashes to clean out."

"But you would never see any of the dirt," she argued with more
than her usual courage, "and if I wouldn't mind the ashes I don't
see why you should."

"We can't afford it."

"Martin, I've given in to you on everything else," she asserted
firmly. "I'm not going to give this up. I'll pay for it out of my
own money."

"What do you mean 'out of my own money'?" he asked sternly. "I
told Osborne we'd run one account. If what is mine is going to be
yours, what is yours is going to be mine. I'd think your own
sense of fairness would tell you that."

As a matter of fact, Martin had no intention of ever touching