“I always knew you possessed that adorable quality, common sense,” he remarked. “Ben and I might have guessed you would do the wise thing. When men rush hot-footed into the affairs of women, they are apt to play the fool.”
“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t go?” she demanded, anxiously.
“On the contrary, every reason why you should; but I feared some mistaken idea about expense or Simeon’s approbation might interfere with your taking a holiday, which you will enjoy as much as he enjoys digging up roots in Patagonia.”
Deena considered the two points of his answer—expense and Simeon’s approbation—and replied thoughtfully:
“My husband would recognize so simple a duty, and, as far as expense goes, I am a perfectly independent woman. Didn’t you know our story—the one you made me rewrite—sold at once, and, besides that, I have placed a number of fugitive poems? So I snap my fingers at expenses till the bank breaks,” and she tapped her forehead to indicate from whence the supply flowed.
“Then make the most of the sensation while it lasts,” he said, with good-natured cynicism, “for expenses have a way of sizing you up—cleaning out your pockets—and going you one better! If you are still snapping your fingers when you come back from New York, then, indeed, you may boast.”
A troubled look came into her face.
“Simeon would like me to go to Polly when she is out of health and needs me,” she said, in a tone she meant to be assertive, but which was only appealing, “and if we are careful about spending, it is because we are proud and do not wish to incur obligations.”
The we was a masterpiece of loyalty, and French was suitably impressed by it.
“Dear Mrs. Ponsonby,” he said, “you speak as if I were likely to misjudge Simeon, whereas my object in coming here was to prevent your misjudging him by allowing your sensitive conscience to forbid pleasures he would be the first to suggest.”