But to leave to others decisions that concerned herself was not Louise Ordway's habit. Instead, she was fighting a battle in which the lifelong devotion of a supremely self-centered nature was struggling with a new-born unselfishness. Though new-born, it was strong, as the invalid's next words showed.
"If I were calling him back from anything but his honeymoon," she said at last, "I'd do it. But he's utterly happy. His letters show that, in every line. I want him to stay so, as long as he can. I want his honeymoon to be long drawn out and perfect." Her manner changed.
"I have an idea that perhaps, after all, I'll be here when he gets back," she added more lightly. "Life still has its interests. But, if I happen not to be here, tell him why I didn't cable."
"I will tell him," Sonya promised.
Neither of them referred to the subject again.
CHAPTER IX
AN INVITATION
That evening Laurie walked across the square to Doris's studio with a decision in his stride which definitely expressed his mental attitude. He had come to the conclusion that something must be done. What this something would be was still hazy in his mind, but the first step at least seemed clear. Doris must move.
He was so convinced of the urgency of this step that he brought up the subject almost before the greetings of guest and hostess were over. Tossing his hat and coat on a convenient chair, he stood facing Doris, his hands in his pockets, his black eyes somber.