"The other day. I don't know why. I felt—oh, I don't know. I just quit. Why, Paul!" She was startled by his expression.
"Well—it would rather surprise anybody," he said. "A sudden change like this. You didn't give me any idea—" There was a shade of reproach in his tone, which shifted quickly to pugnacity. "That partner of yours—what's-his-name? He hasn't been putting anything over on you?"
"Why, no, of course not! I just made up my mind to stop selling land. I'm tired of it. Besides, it looks as though there'd be a slump in the business."
"Well, you can't tell. However, you may be right," he conceded. He smiled ruefully. "It's going to be pretty hard on me, though—your quitting. It's a long way to Masonville."
"To Masonville?" she repeated in surprise.
"Aren't you going there?"
"Why on earth should I go to Masonville?" She caught at the words, not quite quickly enough to stop them. "Oh, I know—my mother. Of course. But, to tell the truth, Paul, I'm fond of her and all that, you know I've been up to see her a good many times,—but after all we've been apart a long time, and my life's been so different. She doesn't exactly know what to make of me. I honestly don't think either of us would be very happy if I were to go back there now. She has Mabel, you know, and the baby. It isn't as though—" Floundering in her explanations, she broke through them, with a smile, to frankness. "As a matter of fact, I never even thought of going back there."
There was bewilderment in his eyes, but he repressed a question.
"Just as you like, of course. Naturally I supposed,—but I'm glad you aren't going. Two lumps, please."
"As though I wouldn't remember!" she laughed. But as she dropped the sugar into his cup and tilted the percolator, a memory flashed across her mind. She saw him sitting at a little table in a dairy lunch-room, struggling to hide his embarrassment, carefully dipping two spoonsful of sugar from the chipped white bowl, and the memory brought with it many others.