I answered her, Yes. She could leave the manuscript with me. I would read it over,—read it over very carefully, and tell her my opinion.
The whole truth?
Of course.
When would she come for the answer?
I’d tell her a few days later.
Why a few days later? Why not to-morrow? She would come to-morrow. The piece was such a short one. One could read it in less than half an hour.
So I yield to her. Very well. Let her come to-morrow.
My wife has meanwhile entered the room. I introduce her. My wife is affable and smiles, but she is sullen, curt and unbending.
She arises from her place. Now she will leave.
My wife laughs. “Am I driving you away?”