"Well, the city life ain't been that wild for me that I'd miss the dizzy whirl. An' anyhow—we'd be together!" Martha said. "We'd be together, maybe, come our weddin'-day. The fourth o' July. We never been parted oncet, on that day, all the fifteen years we been married," she mused, "but—"
"Well?"
"But, come winter, an' Mis' Sherman opens the house again, an' wants
Miss Claire back, who's goin' to look out for her?"
"Why—a—as to that—" said Mr. Ronald, so vaguely it sounded almost supercilious to Claire.
In an instant her pride rose in revolt, rebelling against the notion he might have, that she could possibly put forth any claim upon his consideration.
"O, please, please don't think of me, Martha," she cried vehemently. "I have entirely other plans. You mustn't give me, or my affairs, a thought, in settling your own. You must do what's best for you. You mustn't count for, or on, me in the least. I have not told you before, but I've made up my mind I must resign my position at Mrs. Sherman's, anyway. I'll write her at once. I'll tell her myself, of course, but I tell you now to show that you mustn't have me in mind, at all, in making your plans."
Martha's low-pitched voice fell upon Claire's tense, nervous one with soothing calmness.
"Certaintly not, Miss Claire," she said.
"And you'll write to your husband and report to him what I propose," suggested Mr. Ronald, as if over Claire's head.
"Shoor I will, sir!"