“Great, isn’t it?” Donald said. “I don’t wonder he feels better. You are looking very charming yourself to-night, Edith. You’re gaining weight.”
“I’ve gained eight pounds since we’ve been here. I shouldn’t have believed it possible, but I weighed myself the day we came just to see. I wish you would take a few weeks off, and have a good rest—you don’t look yourself. What’s the matter? Business?”
“Yes. Things aren’t going very well.”
She came up to him, and put her hand affectionately upon his arm.
“After all, Don,” she said, looking at him fondly, “it doesn’t make so much difference—now.”
“Just as much as ever, dear,” he said, taking her hand. “You know how I feel about this money. I’m glad, for your sake, and Bobbie’s, but it isn’t mine, and I can’t forget it.”
“Everything I have is yours, dear—everything! You know that.”
“Thank you, Edith. I appreciate it even if I can’t take advantage of it. I want to succeed on my own account—I can’t stop work just because my wife happens to be a rich woman. You wouldn’t respect me if I did that. I’ll win out, all right. You believe that, don’t you?” He looked at her eagerly.
“Of course I do,” she replied, patting his hand. “I know you will. I only wish you would let me make it easier for you. It spoils all my happiness, not to be able to do so.”