"And—what makes you think that I'm not content?"
Her smile had in it just a touch of wistfulness.
"I understand you, Hugh, better than you think. You want to get back to your work, and—and I should be happier. I'm not so silly and so ignorant as to think that I can satisfy you always. And I'd like to get settled at home,—I really should."
There surged up within me a feeling of relief. I seized her hand as it lay on the table.
"We'll come abroad another time, and go to France," I said. "Maude, you're splendid!"
She shook her head.
"Oh, no, I'm not."
"You do satisfy me," I insisted. "It isn't that at all. But I think, perhaps, it would be wiser to go back. It's rather a crucial time with me, now that Mr. Watling's in Washington. I've just arrived at a position where I shall be able to make a good deal of money, and later on—"
"It isn't the money, Hugh," she cried, with a vehemence which struck me as a little odd. "I sometimes think we'd be a great deal happier without—without all you are going to make."
I laughed.