CHAPTER XXI
Paul was aggrieved. He stood in the dismantled living-room of the little bungalow, struggling between forbearance and a sense of the justice of his grievance. "But look here!" he said for the hundredth time, "why couldn't you let a fellow know? If I'd had a chance to show you how unreasonable, how unnecessary—" He thrust his hands deep into his coat-pockets and walked moodily up and down between the big trunk and the two bulging suitcases that stood on the bare floor.
Helen, drooping wearily on one of the suitcases, contritely searched her mind for a reply. It was bewildering not to find one. On all other points of the discussion her reasons were clear and to her convincing. But surely she should have informed him of her plans. He had never for a moment been forgotten; the knowledge of him continually glowed in her heart, warming her even when her thoughts were furthest from him.
She could not understand the disassociation of ideas that had caused this apparent neglect of him. There was no defense against her self-accusation.
"I'm terribly sorry," she murmured inadequately. He had already passed over the point, beginning again the circling argument that had occupied them since his unexpected arrival.
"Can't you see, dear, there's no reason under the sun for a move like this? You'll no more than get settled in the city before—" His moodiness vanished. "Oh, come on, sweetheart! Chuck the whole thing. Come on down to Ripley. It's only for a little while. Why should you care so much about a little money? You'll have to get used to my paying the bills some time, you know; it might as well be now. No? Yes!" His arm was around her shoulders, and she smiled up into his coaxing, humorous eyes.
"You're a dear! No, but seriously, Paul, not yet. It's all arranged—the 'Pacific Coast' is counting on me, and I've got the new series started in the 'Post.' Just think of all the working girls you'd rob of oodles of good advice that they won't follow! Please don't feel so badly, dear." Her voice deepened. "I'll tell you the real reason I want to go. If I can get really started, if I can get my name pretty well known—A name in this writing game, you know, is just like a trade-mark. It's established by advertising. Well, if I can do that, I can keep on writing wherever I am, even in Ripley. And then I'll have something to do and a little income. I—I would like that. Don't you see how beautiful it would be?"
"It may be your idea of beautifulness, but I can't say I'm crazy about it," he replied. He sat on the suitcase, his hands clasped between his knees, and stared glumly at his boots. "Why do you want an income? I can take care of you."
"Of course!" she assured him, hastily. "I didn't mean—"
"And when it comes to something to do—you're going to have me on your hands, you know!" he continued, with a troubled smile.