“Oh, yes, I would like it,” she answered, doubtfully. “Did she propose it?”
“Yes.”
“You are sure you didn’t suggest it, even,” she questioned, still doubtfully.
“I am not unselfish enough for that,” he answered, dryly.
“But who would pay for it?” she questioned, with a flush of shame. “No; I will not go—until I earn money myself.”
“A letter came last night from your Cousin Don—I really believe I forgot to tell you—perhaps I was jealous of his right to spend money for you. He asked me to decide what would be best for you, from my knowledge of yourself, and said any amount would be forthcoming that your plans needed. His heart is in his native land still. He will never come home to stay as long as his wife”—“lives” in his thought was instantly changed to “objects” upon his lips.
“So you would really like to go back to city life?”
“Yes,” said Judith with slow decision.
Why should she not go home with John Kenney’s mother, she argued, as she stood silent before Roger. He was studying medicine in New York; he had written her once, only once, and then to tell her that he had decided upon the medical course: “If I cannot have something else I want I will have this. Life has got to have something for me.”
A week later Lottie Kindare had written one of her infrequent letters; the burden of the letter seemed to be a twenty-mile drive with John Kenney and an engagement to go to see pictures with him.