But the plea failed. With a sharp sinking of his heart he saw her pretty brow wrinkle in an impatient frown.
"I don't see at all. I should think, if the position is such a good one, you'd be glad you've taken it. And you ought to be glad to think of Davy Junior and me out at Aunt Clara's instead of moping around a cheap dingy flat or boarding-house."
"You mean," he tried to keep his voice steady, "you want to go?
You'd really rather—aside from saving money?"
"Want to! I'm wild to go. Of course, I'll be homesick for you, but all husbands and wives expect to be apart sometimes on vacations and trips and—oh, David, can't you see? It's been so long since I've had any really good times and I'm hungry for them—starving. And out there at Aunt Clara's, where you don't have to think of money all the time— Why, you couldn't—it isn't like you to be so selfish as to refuse me that."
He said no more. He sat fumbling with a napkin, his eyes cast down. He dared not lift them to Shirley's, lest he see there a truth he had not the courage to face just then. After a little he rose, went to the door and opened it.
"Will you come in now?" he nodded to Aunt Clara. "The family council is over."
Aunt Clara marched into the room.
"Well, what have you decided?"
"Shirley has convinced me," he smiled queerly, "that you are right.
But your hospitality is all we ought to accept. For her other expenses
I will send something from my salary every month."
"But that isn't what I—"