She was silent for a long time. At heart she was fair and honest. She had lost her love and respect for the little man, but, after all, was that altogether his fault? She was sorry for him.
“Well, I’ll think it over,” she said, at last.
“I’ll write to Mr. Davis to-night!” he cried, encouraged.
“All right. I hope he’ll give you a job,” said she, also brightening, but for an entirely different reason.
“You’ll give up this awful thing of—of separating; won’t you?”
“I’ll promise one thing, Harvey,” said she, suddenly sincere. “I won’t do anything until 120 I come back from the road. That’s fair, isn’t it? And I’ll tell you what else I’ll do. I will let Phoebe stay with you in Tarrytown until the end of the tour—in May.”
“But I’m going to Blakeville,” he protested.
“No,” said she, firmly, “I won’t agree to that. Either you stay in Tarrytown or she goes to the convent.”
“I can’t get work in Tarrytown.”
“You can tell Mr. Davis you will come out to Blakeville in time for the opening of the soda-water season. I’ll do the work for the family till then. That’s all I’ll consent to. I’ll ask for a legal separation if you don’t agree to that.”