She simply stared at him.
"That would sound strange, I suppose, to the mob in the treadmill of conventionality," he went on, apparently not noting her expression. "But I'm grateful to—to whatever it was—fate or chance or what you please—for my awakening. But for it, what'd have become of me? Like so many men who try to be masters of their profession or business, I had let it become master of me. A little longer, and I'd have been a dust-dry, routine plodder, getting more and more useless every day. No wonder the world advances so slowly. Just look at the musty, narrow rotters who do the work. They specialize. They soon lose touch with the whole. And their minds dwindle as their natures and interests narrow."
"You're not thinking of giving up your work!" she exclaimed in dismay.
"I'm here to begin again," replied he, with his fine look of energy and persistence. "But not in the old way. Not month in and month out, like a hermit—but with some sanity—and, I'm sure, with better results. That brings me to my real reason for calling. I wished to ask if you had any objection to my living and working at the shop." As the color flamed into her face, he hurried on, "I'll keep an independent establishment in every way and bind myself not to disturb you. If you like, Helen can bring Winchie down to see me from time to time—but not unless you like."
"I'll take Winchie and go to father's," said she, painfully embarrassed. "I'd not have stopped on here, but you'll remember you made it a condition——"
"If you leave, I leave also," he rejoined. His manner was emphatic, final. "I've no intention of intruding. Please forget I said anything." He rose to leave. "I'm going to move my laboratory to Chicago or New York. A few months sooner will make no difference."
She insisted that she would go—that she preferred to go—that going was entirely agreeable to her. But in the end he convinced her he really wished her to keep on at the house, to make Winchie feel it was his home—and would leave if she even talked of leaving. "I'll arrange with Gerster's wife over at the farm to feed me and keep the apartment in order. So, everything will go on just as if I were a thousand miles away."
When he went—like a caller after a pleasant hour—she was glad because she wished to be alone, free to shut herself in her room with the many strange things he had given her to think about—the many startling things. But just as she got the seamstress off for home, in came Helen, hoping that Courtney would talk of the amazing call, determined to talk of it herself, anyhow. "Forgive me for asking, Courtney," said she. "But I simply must. You've decided to give up the divorce, haven't you?"
The emerald eyes looked amused astonishment. "Why?" she asked.
"You and he are just—just as you always were."