“I don’t know,” he said abstractedly, in answer to her question as to where she should go. “It’s a pretty tough old world, Judith.” Then, suddenly: “Are you still blaming me?”
“For what would I be blaming you?”
“For chasing around with you in the old days and giving you the idea that I was going to marry you some time?”
“That’s all past and gone, Davie, dear.”
“Past and gone, maybe, but that doesn’t let me out. I know you’ve got your father, but I can’t help feeling more or less responsible for you. It has worried me a lot.”
“You shouldn’t be worrying.”
“I can’t help it. Last year, after I went to Wisconsin, I had a sort of plan worked out, and I wrote you twice before I found out that you’d left Middleboro. What you need—what you’ve always needed, Judith—is something that you could put your whole heart into, like—well, like music. My notion was that you could go to some good conservatory and study, and I was ready to help you. Is it too late to consider something of that kind now?”
She shook her head. “’Tis much too late, Davie.”
“You mean that you’re tied up with this man Dargin?”
“We’ll leave Jack Dargin be. There’s the old father; he’s not what he used to be, Davie; what with mother dying, and me——”