“I was stupid and disagreeable last night. I can never say what I want when I have to count the minutes, and I’ve come back now for a quiet talk,” he began.
A shade of distrust passed over Bessy’s face. “About business?” she asked, pausing a few feet away from him.
“Don’t let us give it that name!” He went up to her and drew her two hands into his. “You used to call it our work—won’t you go back to that way of looking at it?”
Her hands resisted his pressure. “I didn’t know, then, that it was going to be the only thing you cared for"
But for her own sake he would not let her go on. “Some day I shall make you see how much my caring for it means my caring for you. But meanwhile,” he urged, “won’t you overcome your aversion to the subject, and bear with it as my work, if you no longer care to think of it as yours?”
Bessy, freeing herself, sat down on the edge of the straight-backed chair near the desk, as though to mark the parenthetical nature of the interview.
“I know you think me stupid—but wives are not usually expected to go into all the details of their husband’s business. I have told you to do whatever you wish at Westmore, and I can’t see why that is not enough.”
[ 284 ]
