“I'm not ready,” Festing replied, and stopped abruptly. “Very sorry; I forgot all about it,” he resumed.
Helen made a gesture of annoyance. She had invited some of their neighbors to supper and had spent the day preparing the feast. Things, however, had gone wrong; the stove had got too hot and spoiled her choicest dishes.
“You forgot!” she exclaimed. “It really isn't often I trouble you with guests.”
“That's lucky, because I haven't much time for entertaining people. I'm overworked just now.”
Helen hesitated because she was afraid she might say too much. She admired his persevering industry, but had begun to feel that he was slipping away from her and devoting himself to his farm. Sometimes she indulged an angry jealousy, and then tried to persuade herself it was illogical.
“Then why give yourself another task by building the bridge?” she asked.
“I tried to explain that. I can get the thing done with less trouble when the creek is nearly dry, and if we had to use the ford when hauling out the grain, it would mean starting with a light load or keeping a team of horses there. When I've built the bridge and graded back the road we can take the full number of bags across, and that makes for economy. It looks as if I'll have to be severely economical soon.”
Helen colored. She thought he did not mean to vex her, but he had ventured on dangerous ground.
“You know that what is mine is yours,” she said.
“In a way, it is, but I put all my capital into the stock and crop, and must try to get it back. I can't ask my wife for money if I loaf about and lose my own.”