She looked at him wistfully. "Of course I should expect to give up things.... You wouldn't want me to live here?"
"I should not ask you to," he said, half-smiling.
"I suppose there would be a good many things we couldn't do——"
"You would certainly have less money for a number of years; after that, I believe you would have more rather than less; but I should not want you to think that, beyond a reasonable point, the prosperity of the mills was ever to be measured by your dividends."
"No." She leaned back wearily among the pillows. "I suppose, for instance, we should have to give up Europe this summer——?"
Here at last was the bottom of her thought! It was always on the immediate pleasure that her soul hung: she had not enough imagination to look beyond, even in the projecting of her own desires. And it was on his knowledge of this limitation that Amherst had deliberately built.
"I don't see how you could go to Europe," he said.
"The doctor thinks I need it," she faltered.
"In that case, of course—" He stood up, not abruptly, or with any show of irritation, but as if accepting this as her final answer. "What you need most, in the meantime, is a little sleep," he said. "I will tell your maid not to disturb you in the morning." He had returned to his soothing way of speech, as though definitely resigned to the inutility of farther argument. "And I will say goodbye now," he continued, "because I shall probably take an early train, before you wake——"
She sat up with a start. "An early train? Why, where are you going?"