He pulled up a chair and seated himself, experiencing somewhat mixed emotions in the presence of such bewildering business capability.
"You make me feel embarrassed and ashamed," he said. "Rotten loafer that I am! And you so energetic and industrious—you darling thing!"
"But, dear, your farmer can't plow frozen ground, you know; all your men can do just now is to mend fences and dump fertiliser and lime and gypsum over everything. And I believe they were doing that when I left."
"If," he said, "I were a real instead of a phony farmer, I'd read catalogues about wire fences; I'd find plenty to do if I were not a wretched sham. It's only, I hope, because you're in town that I can't drive myself back where I belong. I ought to be sitting in a wood-shed, in overalls, whittling sticks and yelling bucolic wisdom at Ezra Vail—— Oh, you needn't laugh, darling, but that's where I ought to be, and what I ought to be doing if I'm ever going to support a wife!"
"Jim! You're not going to support a wife! You absurd boy!"
"What!" he demanded, losing countenance.
"Did you think you were obliged to support me? How ridiculous! I'd be perfectly miserable——"
"Jacqueline! What on earth do you mean? We are going to live on my income."
"Indeed we are not! What use would I be to you if I brought you nothing except an idle, useless, lazy girl to support! It's unthinkable!"
"Do you expect to remain in business?" he asked, incredulously.