"He do anything?" Selma laughed derisively. "He hasn't the courage—or the honesty."
"Well—'patience and shuffle the cards,' as Sancho Panza says. We're winning Remsen City. And our friends are winning a little ground here, and a little there and a little yonder—and soon—only too soon—this crumbling false politics will collapse and disappear. Too soon, I fear. Before the new politics of a work-compelling world for the working class only is ready to be installed."
Selma had been only half attending. She now said abruptly, with a fluttering movement that suggested wind blowing strongly across open prairies under a bright sky:
"I've decided to go away."
"Yes, you must take a vacation," said Victor. "I've been telling you that for several years. And you must go away to the sea or the mountains where you'll not be harassed by the fate of the human race that you so take to heart."
"I didn't mean a vacation," said Selma. "I meant to Chicago—to work there."
"You've had a good offer?" said Victor. "I knew it would come. You've got to take it. You need the wider experience—the chance to have a paper of your own—or a work of your own of some kind. It's been selfishness, my keeping you all this time."
Selma had turned away. With her face hidden from him she said, "Yes, I must go."
"When?" said Victor.
"As soon as you can arrange for some one else."