She had heard nothing of Martha's job. She smiled. "Oh, I don't know," she replied, lightly. "I don't think it's anything very—purposeful."
"But do you approve of her leaving the university to take it up?"
Emily had heard not a hint of Martha leaving the university. She must have left in the middle of a quarter.
She said, "Not altogether." She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm afraid her heart's never really been in the university. I wish she could have gone on, in her own college, with her own class. But I do think girls of her age have to decide these things for themselves."
She left the meeting early. She had a notion to go straight to Chicago. What job could Martha possibly have got? And why? And had she left her two good friends? And did she mean deliberately to hurt her mother's feelings by having her learn this through Mrs. Bissel? "Perhaps," thought Emily, longingly, "she's taking somebody's place for a few weeks. Perhaps just at Christmas; perhaps the doctor's office girl has got ill, or something. I expect she's helping some one. And she's been too busy to write. I ought to do some Christmas shopping. I'll go up to-morrow and 'phone her, at least. I'll see for myself what's she into."
And after supper Martha called her by 'phone. The connection was poor. Some operator had to relay the unsatisfactory message. All that Emily understood was that Martha would meet her for tea the next day at the usual place.
But the next afternoon Martha led her to a new-found tea-room in an office building—a remote place, one secure corner of which the two of them had quite to themselves. Emily had to feel her way towards her daughter carefully, for she saw at once that Martha was in an evil mood. Around her eyes were the hollows and shadows of tears.
She began directly: "I got a job; I didn't write you—because I've been too blue. I've just felt like crying my eyes out every minute the last week. I just had to 'phone you. I knew I ought to tell you; I just thought I couldn't write. I'm working in a shop; it's a classy place, believe me. Interior decorators, on Mich. Boul."
"Do you like it?"
"Well, I'm not mad about it by any means. It'll do."