"I don't know anything, Eddie; I'm no mind-reader!"
"Aw, cut it out, Goldie! You know I'm tied up right now and can't say some of the things I was going to say that night on the stoop. You know what I mean—with Addie's doctor's bills and chair and crutches, and all."
"Sure I do, Eddie. You've got no right to think of anything."
She turned from him so that her profile was like a white cameo mounted on black velvet.
"You just give me a little time, Goldie, and I'll be on my feet, all righty. I just want some kind of understanding between us—that's all."
"Oh—you—I—"
"I got Joe's job cinched if he goes over to the other firm in March; and by that time, Goldie, you and me and Addie, on eighty per, could—why, we—"
She swayed back from his close glance and ran up the first three steps of her rooming-house. Her face was struck with fear suddenly, as with a white flame out of the sky.
"'Sh-h-h-h-h-h!" she said. "You mustn't!"
He reached for her hand, caught it and held it—but like a man who feels the rope sliding through his fingers and sees his schooner slipping out to sea—slipping out to sea.