"It looks queer," he muttered, "—your being in business and I—playing farmer—like one of those loafing husbands of celebrated actresses."
"Jim!" she exclaimed, scarlet to the ears. "What a horrid simile!"
"It's myself I'm cursing out," he said, almost angrily. "I can't cut such a figure. Don't you understand, Jacqueline? I haven't anything to occupy me! Do you expect me to hang around somewhere while you work? I tell you, I've got to find something to do as soon as we're married—or I couldn't look you in the face."
"That is for you to decide. Isn't it?" she asked sweetly.
"Yes, but on what am I to decide?"
"Whatever you decide, don't do it in a hurry, dear," she said, smiling.
The sullen sense of resentment returned, reddening his face again:
"I wouldn't have to hurry if you'd give up this business and live on our income and be free to travel and knock about with me——"
"Can't you understand that I will be free to be with you—free in mind, in conscience, in body, to travel with you, be with you, be to you whatever you desire—but only if I keep my self-respect! And I can't keep that if I neglect the business of life, which, in my case, lies partly here in this office."
She rose and laid one slim, pretty hand on his shoulder. She rarely permitted herself to touch him voluntarily.