“You're on the highroad to a cup,” he assured her. “If I could take you on for another week” He paused, and an expression came into his eyes which was not new to Honora, nor peculiar to Mr. Silence. “I have to go back to town on Monday.”
If Honora felt any regret at this announcement, she did not express it.
“I thought you couldn't stand Silverdale much longer,” she replied.
“You know why I stayed,” he said, and paused again—rather awkwardly for Mr. Spence. But Honora was silent. “I had a letter this morning from my partner, Sidney Dallam, calling me back.”
“I suppose you are very busy,” said Honora, detaching a copper-green scale of moss from the boulder.
“The fact is,” he explained, “that we have received an order of considerable importance, for which I am more or less responsible. Something of a compliment—since we are, after all, comparatively young men.”
“Sometimes,” said Honora, “sometimes I wish I were a man. Women are so hampered and circumscribed, and have to wait for things to happen to them. A man can do what he wants. He can go into Wall Street and fight until he controls miles of railroads and thousands and thousands of men. That would be a career!”
“Yes,” he agreed, smilingly, “it's worth fighting for.”
Her eyes were burning with a strange light as she looked down the vista of the wood road by which they had come. He flung his cigarette into the water and took a step nearer her.
“How long have I known you?” he asked.