Louis suppressed a sigh.  He first thought of trying to explain to her just what a debenture was.  Then he abandoned the enterprise as too complicated, and also as futile.  Though he should prove to her that a debenture combined the safety of the Bank of England with the brilliance of a successful gambling transaction, she would not budge.  He was acquiring valuable and painful knowledge concerning women every second.  He grew sad, not simply with the weight of this new knowledge, but more because, though he had envisaged certain difficulties of married existence, he had not envisaged this difficulty.  He had not dreamed that a wife would demand a share, and demand it furiously, in the control of his business affairs.  He had sincerely imagined that wives listened with much respect and little comprehension when business was on the carpet, content to murmur soothingly from time to time, “Just as you think best, dear.”  Life had unpleasantly astonished him.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say to Rachel, with steadying facetiousness—­

“You mustn’t forget that I know a bit about these things, having spent years of my young life in a bank.”

But a vague instinct told him that to draw attention to his career in the bank might be unwise—­at any rate, in principle.

“Can’t you see,” Rachel charged again, “that Mr. Batchgrew has only been flattering you all this time so as to get hold of your money?  And wasn’t it just like him to begin again harping on the electricity?>”

“Flattering me?”

“Well, he couldn’t bear you before—­if you’d only heard the things he used to say!—­and now he simply licks your boots.”

“What things did he say?” Louis asked, disturbed.

“Oh, never mind!”

Louis became rather glum and obstinate.

“The money will be perfectly safe,” he insisted, “and our income pretty nearly doubled.  I suppose I ought to know more about these things than you.”

“What’s the use of income being doubled if you lose the capital?” Rachel snapped, now taking a horrid, perverse pleasure in the perilous altercation.  “And if it’s so safe why is he ready to give you so much interest?”

The worst of women, Louis reflected, is that in the midst of a silly argument that you can shatter in ten words they will by a fluke insert some awkward piece of genuine ratiocination, the answer to which must necessarily be lengthy and ineffective.

“It’s no good arguing,” he said pleasantly, and then repeated, “I ought to know more about these things than you.”

Rachel raised her voice in exasperation—­

“I don’t see it, I don’t see it at all.  If it hadn’t been for me you’d have thrown up your situation—­and a nice state of affairs there would have been then!  And how much money would you have wasted on holidays and so on and so on if I hadn’t stopped you, I should like to know!”

Louis was still more astonished.  Indeed, he was rather nettled.  His urbanity was unimpaired, but he permitted himself a slight acidity of tone as he retorted with gentle malice—­