impatient. It almost disappointed him when Gretchen came running down the stairs, three at a time, crying «What is it?» in a rather surprised voice.
They kissed – lingered over it some moments. They had been married three years, and they were much more in love than that implies. It was seldom that they hated each other with that violent hate of which only young couples are capable, for Roger was still actively sensitive to her beauty.
«Come in here,» he said abruptly. «I want to talk to you.»
His wife, a bright-coloured, Titian-haired girl, vivid as a French rag doll, followed him into the living room.
«Listen, Gretchen’ – he sat down at the end of the sofa – ’beginning with tonight I’m going to – What’s the matter?»
«Nothing. I’m just looking for a cigarette. Go on.»
She tiptoed breathlessly back to the sofa and settled at the other end.
«Gretchen – ' Again he broke off. Her hand, palm upward, was extended towards him. «Well, what is it?» he asked wildly.
«Matches.»
«What?»
In his impatience it seemed incredible that she should ask for matches, but he fumbled automatically in his pocket.
«Thank you,» she whispered. «I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Go on.»
«Gretch – »
Scratch! The match flared. They exchanged a tense look.
Her fawn’s eyes apologized mutely this time, and he laughed. After all, she had done no more than light a cigarette; but when he was in this mood her slightest positive action irritated him beyond measure.
«When you’ve got time to listen,» he said crossly, ’you might be interested in discussing the poorhouse question with me.»
«What poorhouse?» Her eyes were wide, startled; she sat quiet as a mouse.
«That was just to get your attention. But, beginning tonight, I start on what’ll probably be the most important six weeks of my life – the six weeks that’ll decide whether we’re going on forever in this rotten little house in this rotten little suburban town.»
Boredom replaced alarm in Gretchen’s black eyes. She was a Southern girl, and any question that had to do with getting ahead in the world always tended to give her a headache.
«Six months ago I left the New York Lithographic Company,» announced Roger, ’and went in the advertising business for myself.»
«I know,» interrupted Gretchen resentfully; ’and now instead of getting six hundred a month sure, we’re living on a risky five hundred.»