which they called the “bank,” when Meg, knowing that it was quite empty, stopped his hand, saying nervously—
“You haven’t seen my private expense book yet.”
John never asked to see it; but she always insisted on his doing so, and used to enjoy his masculine amazement at the queer things women wanted, and made him guess what “piping” was, demand fiercely the meaning of a “hug-me-tight,” or wonder how a little thing composed of three rosebuds, a bit of velvet, and a pair of strings, could possibly be a bonnet, and cost five or six dollars. That night he looked as if he would like the fun of quizzing her figures and pretending to be horrified at her extravagance, as he often did, being particularly proud of his prudent wife.
The little book was brought slowly out, and laid down before him. Meg got behind his chair under pretence of smoothing the wrinkles out of his tired forehead, and standing there, she said, with her panic increasing with every word—
“John, dear, I’m ashamed to show you my book, for I’ve really been dreadfully extravagant lately. I go about so much I must have things, you know, and Sallie advised my getting it, so I did; and my New-Year’s money will partly pay for it: but I was sorry after I’d done it, for I knew you’d think it wrong in me.”
John laughed, and drew her round beside him, saying good-humoredly, “Don’t go and hide. I won’t beat you if you have got a pair of killing boots; I’m rather proud of my wife’s feet, and don’t mind if she does pay eight or nine dollars for her boots, if they are good ones.”
That had been one of her last “trifles,” and John’s eye had fallen on it as he spoke. “Oh, what will he say when he comes to that awful fifty dollars!” thought Meg, with a shiver.