"You're--you're quite sure you aren't a widow, Phyllis?"
"Quite. Why?"
"Talking of business at a time like this. It sounds so--so
experienced."
"Well, if you _will_ try to settle our whole future lives in one short
week-end leave, we must at least be practical. Anyway, it's just this.
I'm not going to be engaged to you until there's some prospect of our
getting married. I hate long engagements."
"That means not till after the War, then," said I disconsolately.
"I'm afraid it does. But when once the War's over it won't be long
before you'll be able to keep me in the style to which I'm accustomed,
will it?"
"Years and years, I should think," said I, looking at her new hat.
"It'll take at least a pound a day even to start with."
"Three hundred and sixty-five a year," said she thoughtfully.
"And an extra one in Leap Year," I warned her.
"Did I ever tell you," she asked with pride, "that I have money of my
own?"
"Hurrah!" I shouted. "You darling! How splendid!"
"Jimmy," she said apprehensively, "you aren't marrying me for it, are
you?"
"How can I tell till I know how much you've got?"
"Well, at a pound a day it would take us to February 19th. You'd have
to begin from there."
"What an heiress! Promise you'll never cast it in my teeth, dear, that
I've got less than you. I've got enough War Loan to take us on to the
23rd and halfway through the 24th; and Exchequer Bonds and things
which will see us through--er--to about 7.15 P.M. on March 31st. Then
there's my writing."
"Oh," she said in a surprised tone "do they pay you for that? I
always thought you gave them so much a line to put things in--like
advertisements, you know."
"Madam," I answered with dignity, "when you find yourself, from April
1st until April 20th, depending each year upon my pen for the very
bread you eat, perchance you will regret those wounding words."
"Well, what else?"