Gribble, trying to speak bravely.
"I was thinking of----"
"Well, you ought to be," interrupted her husband. "He wasn't my uncle,
poor chap, but I've been thinking of him, off and on, all day. That
bloater-paste you are eating now came from his kindness. I brought it
home as a treat."
"I was thinking of my clothes," said Mrs. Gribble, clenching her hands
together under the table. "When I found I had come in for that money,
the first thing I thought was that I should be able to have a decent
dress. My old ones are quite worn out, and as for my hat and jacket--"
"Go on," said her husband, fiercely. "Go on. That's just what I said:
trust you with money, and we should be poorer than ever."
"I'm ashamed to be seen out," said Mrs. Gribble.
"A woman's place is the home," said Mr. Gribble; "and so long as I'm
satisfied with your appearance nobody else matters. So long as I am
pleased, that's everything. What do you want to go dressing yourself up
for? Nothing looks worse than an over-dressed woman."
"What are we going to do with all that money, then?" inquired Mrs.
Gribble, in trembling tones.
"That'll do," said Mr.
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