“Didn’t I? Well, no matter.”
He stared at her, and Gottlieb’s words came back to him. The two Sheilas would perish together. He had taken them both from the soil where they had first taken root. Neither of them could adapt herself to the new soil. It was too late to restore the birch to its old home. Was it too late to save Sheila?
He would not trust the Blithevale fogies longer. She should have the best physician on earth. If he were in New York, well and good; if he lived in Europe, they would hunt him down. Craftily he said to Sheila:
“How would you like to take a little jaunt to New York?”
“No, thanks.”
“With me. I’ve got to go.”
“I’m sorry I can’t; but it will be a change for you.”
“I’ll be lonely without you.”
“Not in New York,” she laughed.
“In heaven,” he said, and the extravagance pleased her. He took courage from her smile and pleaded: “Come along. You can buy a raft of new clothes.”