Sometimes she was
a little scared when the boxes and boxes and boxes came home, but
after all, they really needed the things, she told herself. But
needed or not, she and Bert began to quarrel about money, and to
resent each other's extravagances. The sense of an underlying
financial distress permeated everything they did; Nancy's face
developed new expressions, she had a sharp look for the moment in
which Bert told her that he was going to take their boys and the
Underhill boys to the Hippodrome, or that he was going to play
poker again. Bert rarely commented upon her own recklessness,
further than to patiently ejaculate, "Lord!"
"Why do you say that, Bert?" she might ask, with violent self-
control.
"Nothing, my dear, nothing!" Bert would return to his newspaper,
or his razor. "I was just thinking. No matter!"
Nancy would stand, eyeing him sulphurously.
"But just what do you mean, Bert?" she would pursue. "Do you mean
that you don't think I should have gotten the suit? I can't wear
that fur-trimmed suit into the summer, you know. The hat was
eighteen dollars--do you think there's another woman in the
Gardens who pays no more than that? Lots of men haven't four
lovely children and a home to support, they haven't wives who make
all their friends welcome, as I do.
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