"Of course," Tarrant continued, "things aren't done that way between men. But the fact is I know only one woman who has a man's sensitiveness in money matters"—he paused—"and that is Jet Pulsifer… ." He brought the name out with a touch of defiance which amused his wife.

"Oh, yes," she murmured, with increasing relief.

"You don't see anything in it yourself?" he insisted.

"I see what I always have—that your contract's not fair to Vance; I've told you so before."

"That's neither here nor there—"

"Surely it's very much here, if the poor boy's in want of money."

"Ah, he's been whining to you again about money, has he?"

She shook her head and her eyes filled with tears. She remembered the uselessness of her previous intervention in Vance's behalf, and wondered again by what curious coincidence it happened that his name always brought to a climax the latent tension between herself and Tarrant.

"Look here, Halo—I can see you still think I've treated him badly."

"I think you've treated him—indifferently. What you call business is essentially an affair of indifference, isn't it? It's designed to exclude the emotions."

"Do you want me to be emotional about Weston?"

"I want you to be generous, Lewis—as you know how to be… ." She paused to let this take effect. "He's young and unhappy and bewildered. Perhaps he did make a mistake in going to Lambart about his book without telling you." (Tarrant snorted.) "But surely you can afford to overlook that. He's given the New Hour one good book—and I believe he's going to give you another. This last novel is a very fine thing—"

Tarrant shifted his position slightly, and looked at his wife. "Ah—so you've read it, then?" he said, a sudden jealous edge in his voice.

"The first chapters—yes."

"Well, there are no more first chapters—or last ones, either." He saw her startled movement, and laughed. "When I refused to let the young gentleman off his bargain he tore up the manuscript before my eyes and said he'd never write another line for any of us. Good old-fashioned melodrama, eh?" He waited, and then added with a touch of flatness: "He swore he had no other copy—but I wouldn't trust him about that."