"And you don't know what you're going to do?"
"No."
"It would be very foolish for us to marry, wouldn't it—especially with poor father to be taken care of? I have eight hundred dollars in the bank—a little surprise for you dear; but we shall probably have to stay West and get a fresh start. And, Tom, it'll take a long time before we get on our feet, won't it?"
He stared gloomily at the taxicab window, bitterly conscious that she spoke the truth.
"Of course," he assented. "I had no intention of coming to you, a failure, and holding you to your promise, Florence." His voice was harsh. "I doubt if I would have come, only that this other affair brought me. You're quite right. It would be criminal for us to marry, with only a few dollars in the world, and your helpless father——"
"Hush!" Her hand fluttered over his lips, and he promptly kissed it. "Don't say that it would be criminal, Tom; it would only be foolish."
"What's the condition?" he insisted.
"I'm coming to that. You admit, then, that in our present circumstances we should play the safe game, wait until we get established in the West, and until we get on our feet financially?"
"We ought to, of course," he nodded, storm in his eyes. "It would be folly to face poverty, to assume everything——"
"Isn't it very foolish to be in love at all, Tom, dear?"