Bill stared at her.
"What I really came over for," she said, sniffling a little, "was to be w-with you. If you can s-stand it like this, I—can't. I just about went crazy, seeing other women with their husbands and—being around those darned hotels alone, and you here working like a dog—I couldn't sta-and it!"
"You poor little kid!" Bill whispered against her hair. "You poor little kid!" He laughed shakily, holding her close. "Sobered up with an awful head on her, I'll bet!"
That was not what he expected to say, but Bill was never much of a hand to express his deeper emotions.
"Anyway, I can cook for you and Tommy, I hope!" Doris was, as usual, withering in her sarcasm. "If you're determined to grub along like this, all right. I'm game for it. I never liked cooking—much. But I can do it. We can move up to the house——"
"Not till we've struck the ore. Call me stubborn if you want to—I can't help it. I found the ore in the first place, and I'll find it again. Without touching a dollar of your money. I can't afford to keep up that big house. This is about my limit."
Doris eyed the limited space, chewing her lip meditatively.
"It isn't much of a place to bring baby," she said. "She'd have her little hands full of slivers, the first thing, off these rough boards. And I can't see the sense, Bill-dear. Not when there's the kitchen up there, and the breakfast room and maid's room that could be shut off from the rest of the house. I'd like to know how it's going to cost more to live there. Do you think you boys would eat more in that kitchen than you do here?"
"Aw, hell! Come on, be a shport!" cried Luella into the silence, evidently believing that the two were playing pinochle.