"To say nothing of what I can do for you, there's the matter of future orders. I order twice a year—in big lots always."
"I've quit down there."
"Oh! Somebody else has given you something good—eh? That's why you're cocky."
"No."
"Then why've you quit?"
"I wish you could tell me. I don't understand. But—I've done it."
Gideon puzzled with this a moment, decided that it was beyond him and unimportant, anyhow. He blew out a cloud of smoke, stretched his legs and took up the main subject. "I was about to say, I've got a place for you. I'd like to take you to Chicago, but there's a Mrs. G.—as dear, sweet, good a soul as ever lived—just what a man wants at home with the children and to make things respectable. I wouldn't grieve her for worlds. But I can't live without a little fun—and Mrs. G. is a bit slow for me. . . . Still, it's no use talking about having you out there. She ought to be able to understand that an active man needs two women. One for the quiet side of his nature, the other for the lively side. Sometimes I think she—like a lot of wives—wouldn't object if it wasn't that she was afraid the other lady would get me away altogether and she'd be left stranded."
"Naturally," said Susan.
"Not at all!" cried he. "Don't you get any such notion in that lovely little head of yours, my dear. You women don't understand honor—a man's sense of honor."
"Naturally," repeated Susan.