"Incidentals? Do you mean she steals from us?"
"Of course she does. A little sugar here, a little tea there, a half-pound of chops—to cheer up her poor old mother."
"Well, look here, I didn't know that. You oughtn't to let her do it!"
"Why not? We can afford it. Property is theft anyhow. I'll get you your whisky—though really you've had enough."
Teresa went quickly out of the room, to avoid discussion, and brought back the decanters and two glasses.
"I'll take a little, too, just to make you happy," she said, smiling.
"Well, look here, about Mary"
"Oh, bother Mary. Let's talk about ourselves. I forgive you for everything."
"Do you—honestly?" He was won instantly away from the theme of Mary. And he was used to Teresa's jumps.
"Yes. I don't really blame you, you know. I think you're a sweet, dear thing, and very good to me. And I don't want you different at all from what you are. Only don't make me jealous."
"Jealous—you! It isn't in you."
"Oh, isn't it! Don't try it, that's all. I don't mind other women liking you—only don't you like them!"
