"What do you mean?"
He flecked his cigar, laughing over at her.
"You're delicious. What could I mean except that you have outgrown your job?"
"You—mean—"
"I mean that I am going to officially place you in charge of the booking department at—well, your own idea of salary."
"I—I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything."
"You can't know—"
"I do know."
"You see, she is almost four now, and beautifully cared for, but, now that her little mind is beginning to unfold—I—Oh, to be able to afford a place of my own—next year—when she has outgrown Mrs. Dupree's. You see, I've never really had her. I've such plans for the day when I can have her rearing all to myself. I want life to unfold so naturally to her. Like a flower. That's why I am so terribly jealous of every day we spend apart. That's why you—you cannot know what it means to have you tell me that I've made good. It means that the time is nearing for me to have her with me, to—to—Well, you cannot—cannot know!"