He stood up, and took me by the shoulders, making me look straight at him.
“How long are you to be gone?” he demanded, as if he had penetrated my ruse.
“Two weeks in Providence,” I said, “but if we succeed, we go on to Boston and—”
“Promise me you’ll come back in two weeks. Promise me that,” he said.
He was looking straight down into my eyes, and I think I would have promised him anything he asked me to; so I said in a little weak voice:
“I promise.”
“Good!” he replied. “I would not let you go, if it were in my power to stop you, but I know you need the money, and I have no right to deprive you of it. Oh, good God! it’s hell not to be able to—” He broke off, and gently took my hands up in his:
“Look here, little mouse. There’s a chance of my being able to make a big pot of money. I’ll know in a few days’ time. Then you shall not have to worry about anything. But as I am now fixed, why I can’t stop you from anything. I haven’t the right.”
I wanted to tell him that he could stop me from going if he wanted to; but he had not told me he cared for me, and there was a possibility that I was mistaken about him. He had that big, gentle way with every one, and it might be that I had mistaken his kindly interest in me for something that he did not really feel. So I laughed now lightly, and I said:
“Oh, I’ll be back soon, and if you like you can see me off on the train.”