"Not a great deal, which is fortunate, because I haven't much time to say it in," Bland told her with a smile. "To begin with, I'll state the unflattering truth—it strikes me that, in one way, we're each as bad as the other. I suppose it's one of my privileges to mention such facts to you, though I'd never think of admitting them to anybody else."
"It's a husband's privilege," Sylvia rejoined pointedly. "Don't be premature."
"Well," said Bland, "I can only make one defense, but I think you ought to realize how strong it is. We were thrown into each other's society, and it isn't in the least surprising that I lost my head and was carried away. My power of reasoning went when I fell in love with you."
"That sounds pretty, but it's unfortunate you didn't think of me a little more," pouted Sylvia.
"Think of you?" Bland broke out. "I thought of nothing else!"
"Then it wasn't to much purpose. Don't you see what you want to bring me to? Can't you realize what I should have to give up? How could we ever manage on the little we have?"
The man frowned. He was sorry for her and somewhat ashamed, but she jarred on him in her present mood.
"I believe people who were sufficiently fond of each other have often got along pretty satisfactorily on less, even in the Service. It's a matter of keen regret to me that you will have to make a sacrifice, but things are not quite so bad as they look, and there's reason for believing they may get better. You will have as pleasant society as you enjoy now; my friends will stand by my wife." A look of pride crept into his face. "I dare say they have their failings, but they'll only expect charm from you, and you can give it to them. They won't value you by the display you make or your possessions. We're free from that taint."
"But have you considered what you must give up?"
Bland had hardly expected this, but he smiled.