It was even worse than she had feared. Robert grew very white.
“You mean—a job?” he asked.
“It’s charitable work, really,” Mrs. Champney explained. “The foreign-born women bring their needlework to the shop, and we sell it on commission for them. The idea is to encourage their home industries, and—”
“But you’re going to get paid for it?” asked Robert.
“Why, yes!” said Mrs. Champney brightly. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy the work, too. I’ve always—”
“You mean you’re going off to work every morning in this shop?” said Robert. “Do you mind telling me why?”
“Because I consider it very useful and interesting work, Robert,” replied Mrs. Champney, with dignity.
There was a long silence.
“All right!” said Robert briefly.
She knew how terribly she had hurt him. He had wanted to do so much for her, to take her into his home and protect her and care for her, and she would not let him. She had turned away with a smile from all that he had to offer. She would take nothing.