“Bob,” she said, after a moment.
“Well?”
“Tell me what else he said—please.”
“He said a good deal. For instance, he informed me that the man you married would be some one he picked out for you, some one who was ‘good enough for you.’ But there! don’t ask me to tell you any more. It ended by his offering to lend me money to help on with my art studies. Having driven me to Europe he was willing to pay me to stay there.... Oh, by George! That was the last straw!”
There was another pause. He heard her move and turning, saw that she was standing by the door, her hand upon the latch. The expression upon her face caused him to wish he had not spoken so frankly.
“I’m sorry, Esther,” he said, impulsively. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you this—about your uncle. It is the truth, but I guess it would have been better if I had kept my mouth shut. I wish I had.”
If she heard and understood she gave no sign.
“Bob,” she said, “may I ask you just one more question?”
“Oh, Esther, don’t! I have told you all I can.”
“It isn’t about—that night. It is about us—about you. You are not going away until next week?”