“Cora!” he cried reproachfully, “how can you say things like that to me!”
She shook her head. “Oh, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least! How do I know what you’ll do? For all I know, you may be just that kind of a man. You said you ought to be going——”
“Cora,” he explained, gently, “I didn’t say I meant to go. I said only that I thought I ought to, because Moliterno will be needing me in Basilicata. I ought to be there, since it appears that no more money is to be raised here. I ought to be superintending operations in the oil-field, so as to make the best use of the little I have raised.”
“You?” she laughed. “Of course I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
He sighed deeply. “You know perfectly well that I appreciate all you did. We don’t seem to get on very well to-day——”
“No!” She laughed again, bitterly. “So you think you’ll be going, don’t you?”
“To my rooms to write some necessary letters.”
“Of course not to pack your trunk?”
“Cora,” he returned, goaded; “sometimes you’re just impossible. I’ll come to-morrow forenoon.”
“Then don’t bring the car. I’m tired of motoring and tired of lunching in that rotten hole. We can talk just as well in the library. Papa’s better, and that little fiend will be in school to-morrow. Come out about ten.”