“Why buy things C.O.D. when you have accounts everywhere?”

“Oh, this was something I saw advertised in the evening paper—­”

“And you bought it because it was cheap!  Oh, you women!  Now, Eunice, that’s just a case in point.  I want my wife to have everything she wants—­everything in reason, but there’s no sense in throwing money away.  Now, kiss me, sweetheart, for I’m due at a directors’ meeting in two shakes—­or thereabouts.”

Embury snapped the fastening of his second glove, and, hat in hand, held out his arms to his wife.

She made one more appeal.

“You’re quite right, San, maybe I didn’t need that C.O.D. thing.  But I do want a little chickenfeed in my purse when I go out to-day.  Maybe they’ll take up a collection.”

“A silver offering for the Old Ladies’ Home,—­eh?  Well, tell ’em to come to me and I’ll sign their subscription paper!  Now, good-by, Dolly Gray!  I’m off!”

With a hearty kiss on Eunice’s red lips, and a gay wave of his hand to Aunt Abby, Embury went away and Ferdinand closed the door behind him.

“I can’t stand it, Aunt Abby,” Eunice exclaimed, as the butler disappeared into the pantry; “if Sanford were a poor man it would be different.  But he’s made more money this year than ever before, and yet, he won’t give me an allowance or even a little bit of ready money.”

“But you have accounts,” Aunt Abby said, absently, for she-was scanning the paper now.

“Accounts!  Of course, I have!  But there are a thousand things one wants cash for!  You know that perfectly well.  Why, when our car was out of commission last week and I had to use a taxicab, Sanford would give me just enough for the fare and not a cent over to fee the driver.  And lots of times I need a few dollars for charities, or some odds and ends, and I can’t have a cent to call my own!  Al Hendricks may be of coarser clay than Sanford Embury, but he wouldn’ treat a wife like that!”

“It is annoying, Eunice, but Sanford is so good to you—­”

“Good to me!  Why shouldn’t he be?  It isn’t a question of goodness or of generosity—­it’s just a fool whim of his, that I mustn’t ask for actual cash!  I can have all the parties I want, buy all the clothes I want, get expensive hats or knick-knacks of any sort, and have them all charged.  He’s never even questioned my bills—­but has his secretary pay them.  And I must have some money in my purse!  And I will!  I know ways to get it, without begging it from Sanford Embury!”

Eunice’s dark eyes flashed fire, and her cheeks burned scarlet, for she was furiously angry.

“Now, now, my dear, don’t take it so to heart,” soothed Aunt Abby; “I’ll give you some money.  I was going to make you a present, but if you’d rather have the money that it would cost, say so.”

“I daren’t, Aunt Abby.  Sanford would find it out and he’d be terribly annoyed.  It’s one of his idiosyncrasies, and I have to bear it as long as I live with him!”