He smiled grimly. “I am a sailor,” he said.
“And are you going to sea again soon?” she returned. “I shall miss you dreadfully. I’m glad I sha’n’t be here in New York when you are gone. Perhaps I shall leave first.”
“Where are you going?” he asked, eagerly.
“I’ve got to go somewhere,” she answered, “now that I’ve had to change all my plans. I’m going to Milwaukee.”
“To Milwaukee?” he repeated. “I did not know you had any friends there.”
“I haven’t,” she answered, with a repetition of the hard little laugh. “Not a friend in Milwaukee, and not a friend in New York.”
“Then why are you going?”
“I must earn my living, somehow,” she responded, "and I can’t paint, and I can’t embroider, and I can’t teach whist, and I’m not young enough to go on the stage—so I’m to settle down as the matron of a girl’s school in Milwaukee. The place has been offered to me, and I intend to accept it.”
“When must you be there?” he inquired.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered. “Next week some time, or perhaps not till next month. I’m not sure when.”