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Dead Men's Shoes 27"My health's all right," he answeredgrimly. It made him angry to haveEdith assume that she could pack him up,just as if he were one of her trunks, whenhe had work to do. Away from home,more respect was paid him. "I have toearn my living," he added.A look of pain came into Edith Lloyd'sdark eyes: a look he did not see. Withparted, eager lips she came nearer himand stretched out a timid hand. "Why,David dear," she said, "you don't haveto slave, do you? We've lots of money,really.""You have." He couldn't help utteringthe words, though he should haveknown how unfair a thrust they were. Itwas too much to have the difference intheir conditions touched on just now, nomatter how gently, when he was raw withthe sense of it."It doesn't matter whose the moneyis." Her hand touched him, but he drewaway. "It's ours to use. There's noneed for you to get pulled down with overwork.Can't you possibly leave the millsfor a month or six weeks ? ""No, I can't; and I wouldn't if Icould." He was maddened by her insistence.His sensitiveness made him indifferentto any pain except his own; hismind, for the moment, was like an inflamedwound. The torment of it excludedevery other thought. "Don't Iaccept enough from you, as it is," he wenton, "without neglecting my work? I'mnot a lap-dog."Her eyes widened. Her husband hadbeen morose of late, had looked overstrainedand far from well; but he hadnever in word or act been unkind. It wasdreadful, and it hurt. She could notunderstand, and in her amazement shewas terrified. Lloyd had been very carefulhitherto not to betray the unrest thathad been coming closer and closer tothe surface of his mind. Now that theturbid waters had broken forth, he wasincapable of realizing the effect of hiswords. The nerves that ordinarilywould have made him acutely aware ofany suffering endured by Edith did notreact: they seemed paralyzed. Helooked at his wife almost as if she hadbeen a stranger, and a rather repugnantstranger at that."David !" she gasped."Well, I'm not," he reiterated sullenly,cherishing the metaphor of the thing hewas not. "In order to keep up my end,I've got to work.""But you don't have to keep up yourend—not when you're ill, you poor boy."Edith Lloyd was more and more troubled,but she was growing less afraid. Nothingbut the approach of illness could explainDavid's strange unreasonableness, andthat roused her pity.Yet she could scarcely have chosen amore unfortunate phrase by which to expressher protest. It was absurd of himto mind, but he was goaded into fury bythe words. " I don't choose to be utterlydependent," he said, holding himself alittle in check simply because he was gettingso very angry. "You mean to begenerous, Edith, but you don't understandat all. I suppose it's natural; Isuppose you can't realize. Anyhow, I'msick of it."Tears came into Mrs. Lloyd's eyes, andshe grew very white; but she stood herground, trying to be reasonable, tryingnot to care. "No, I'm afraid I don't understand,"she returned quietly. "You'renot dependent on me at all, as a matterof fact. The salary you get from themills is enough, of itself, to keep all of usgoing. I can't see ""You can't see that I'm dependent onyou," he interrupted, "when even mysalary is paid by a company in which youown most of the stock?" The last restraintswere being swept away by theflood of his wrath. He no longer caredhow wildly he struck. "Don't I live inyour house, and drive your cars, and rideyour horses? I've been your playthingever since I married you. And now youtry to take me away from my work for thesake of a whim ! Am I allowed to spend acent of my income except on gewgaws andthe clothes I wear?""But why should you—why shouldyou, David?""Only for the sake of keeping a littleself-respect, I suppose. And you say youdon't understand that."Mrs. Lloyd was openly weeping now;but she stiffened as if she had beenstruck, and her black eyes flashed. "Inever said anything remotely resembling