“No, wait a minute.” She held his hand. “Let’s talk about it, it worries me. I seem to spend nothing unnecessary, but money seems to fly away simply. We don’t manage well, somehow.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” he said with a little cough, looking at her from under his brows.

That cough she knew well. It was a sign of intense dissatisfaction, not with her, but with himself. He certainly was displeased not at so much money being spent, but at being reminded of what he, knowing something was unsatisfactory, wanted to forget.

“I have told Sokolov to sell the wheat, and to borrow an advance on the mill. We shall have money enough in any case.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid that altogether.⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh, it’s all right, all right,” he repeated. “Well, goodbye, darling.”