She halted, thinking of what Miss Claes had advised about her authorship of The Lance of the Rivernais.
“You’ll take it, Pidge?” he said with deadly calm.
“I’ll do what I can until you come back. It must be managed very silently. No announcements. I’ll be there as I was. I’ve been thinking a lot. The Public Square—I know how dear it is to you, Dicky. It is to me, too. It will be wonderful to have some money to work with. I know about Bothwell. He’s the right man for the advertising.”
“I left it open—for you to choose the one to help you when Bert Ames goes over to Washington.”
Her eyes turned to him directly now, searchingly. There seemed to be something intelligible for him in them, but he did not divine the meaning.
“That’ll all work out,” she said presently. “We mustn’t try to plan it all now.”
Her eyes filled with laughter.
“Oh, Dicky,” she said, “if I’d ever get self-conscious about feeling all the responsibilities of The Public Square resting upon my shoulders—I’d muddle the whole business in a day!”
“They have rested on your shoulders, Pidge.”
“Yes, but I didn’t stop to think.... In another minute you’ll be able to see the ocean!”