I was in too bitter a mood to endure a word, and yet did not wish to hurt her feelings; therefore she found me more absorbed in my paper and preoccupied than ever before.
"Thank you, Miss Adah," I said, cordially but briefly. "Editors are wretched company; their paper is everything to them, and I've something on my mind just now that's very absorbing."
"Thee isn't strong enough to work yet," she said sympathetically.
"Oh, yes," I replied, laughing bitterly; "I'm a small edition of Samson. Besides, I'm as poor as Job's impoverished turkey, and must get to work again as soon as possible."
"There is no need of thee feeling that way; we—" and then she stopped and blushed.
"I know all about 'we,'" I laughed; "your hearts are as large as this wide valley, but then I must keep my self-respect, you know. You have no idea how happy you ought to be in such a home as yours."
"I like the city better," she replied, blushing, and she hastily left the room.
My greed for work departed as abruptly. "Poor child!" I muttered. "'Life is a tangle,' as Miss Warren said, and a wretched one, too, for many of us."
Mrs. Yocomb soon after came in, and looked with solicitude at my almost untasted dinner.
"Why, Richard," she said, "thy appetite flags strangely. Isn't thy dinner to thy taste?"