“This is their work at the farm,” he declared. “Your uncle’s a benighted, ignorant man, and my ideas terrify him, and so he’s tried to influence you. And I’m sorry to find he has succeeded.”
“Not at all. Uncle Tom would influence nobody; and if you think he’d influence me, that shows you don’t respect me as you ought, or give me credit for my brains—though you’ve praised them often enough.”
“I give you credit for everything. You’re half my life, and the best half, I should hope. And I trust you to change your mind about this, Medora. It’s the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I think if you turn it over, you’ll see you ought to be there.”
“I thought I was the biggest thing that had ever happened to you. However—”
“Leave it—don’t decide yet. I’m proud. I wouldn’t have you come, of course, if it’s not going to interest you. Whether you agree, or whether you don’t, I should have thought my first public appearance would mean a lot to you—me being what I am to you.”
“It does mean a lot—so much that I’d be so cruel nervous that—”
“But you said the reason—”
“Oh dear,” she said, “if you knew how you’re making my head ache, Jordan. Leave it alone, for God’s sake. I’ll come, of course, if you’re going to make it a personal thing.”
“Not if you don’t feel it a personal thing. Come back to me soon, and we’ll have a good long talk about it. There mustn’t be any difference between us. We’re too much to each other for anything like that. And don’t see Mr. Dingle again, please, Medora, till I have.”
“I’m not likely to see him again.”