Catherine held herself sternly away from the comfort of touch.
"I can't endure it, day after day, the same things. Petty manual jobs. And I'm older every day. And soon the children will be grown up, and I'll be flat on the dump heap."
"In a few more years, Cathy, I'll have more money. Now you know we can't afford more servants, I'm sorry."
"I don't want more from you!" Catherine cried out. "I want to do something myself!"
"You know how much you do." Charles scoffed at her, but she caught the hint of scratched pride in his voice. "In the middle-class family the wife is the largest economic factor."
"Charles, if I work out a scheme which puts no more burden on you"—Catherine's breath quickened—"would you mind my going back to work? I've figured it out. How much I'd have to earn to fill my place——"
"You mean—take a job?"
"Yes."
Charles reached for his pipe.