"But you fight every step of the way."
"That's the way the Irish show they're grateful," she laughed. But in her heart she was glad that at last her work began to interest him as much as his interested her. Of course this particular problem in the play was his own problem, so his interest was easily aroused. She saw how it rested him to forget entirely about his own work and take up this other man's difficulties.
As the hot weather came upon them they debated the wisdom of moving out of town. Bob's season was running very late, holding on from week to week, so long as the audiences held. Trent was rushed to death. They met only for brief visits at odd hours. Even week-ends were occupied; he caught up with his correspondence on that holiday.
"You look very pale these last few days, Barbara. Do go off to your bungalow, or to mine."
"Will you come, too?"
"Whenever I can. You see how my time is eaten up. But you could motor out at night, and spend your days out in the open. Don't think of me, you go—and be comfortable."
"Do I get on your nerves?"
"I wonder sometimes what my nerves would have done without you. You are the only tonic they have."
"Thanks. I'll stay until my season closes, then we can decide."