"Or wait until I'm put out."
His tone made those words mean that his desperate situation had roused his combativeness, that he would not give up. Her blood beat faster and her eyes shone. "You'll win," she said, with the quiet confidence which strengthens when it comes from a person whose judgment one has tested and found good. And he believed in her as absolutely as she believed in him.
"I've been tempted to resign," he went on. "If I don't everybody'll say I'm a failure when the crash comes. But—Madelene, there's something in me that simply won't let me quit."
"There is," replied she; "it's your father."
"Anyhow, you are the only public opinion for me."
"You'll win," repeated Madelene. "I've been thinking over that whole business. If I were you, Arthur"—she was sitting up so that she could look at him and make her words more impressive—"I'd dismiss strike and freight rates and the mill, and I'd put my whole mind on Whitney. There's a weak spot somewhere in his armor. There always is in a scoundrel's."
Arthur reflected. Presently he drew her head down against his; it seemed to her that she could feel his brain at work, and soon she knew from the change in the clasp of his arms about her that that keen, quick mind of his was serving him well. "What a joy it is to a woman," she thought, "to know that she can trust the man she loves—trust him absolutely, always, and in every way." And she fell asleep after awhile, lulled by the rhythmic beat of his pulse, so steady, so strong, giving her such a restful sense of security. She did not awaken until he was gently laying her in the bed.
"You have found it?" said she, reading the news in the altered expression of his face.
"I hope so," replied he.
She saw that he did not wish to discuss. So she said, "I knew you would," and went contentedly back into sleep again.