"Well," he began, "I saw the oculist, and he says that my eyes are
almost well again, but that I mustn't use them for two weeks longer.
Then, I can read or write for two hours every day, increasing gradually
as long as they don't hurt. By the first of October, he thinks I'll be
ready for work again. Carlton wants me to report on the morning of the
fifth, and he offers me a better salary than I had on The Herald."
"That's good!"
"We'll have to have a flat in the city, or a little house in the
country, near enough for me to get to the office."
"For us to get to the office," supplemented Ruth.
"What do you think you're going to do, Miss Thorne?"
"Why--I'm going to keep right on with the paper," she answered in
surprise.
"No you're not, darling," he said, putting his arm around her. "Do you
suppose I'm going to have Carlton or any other man giving my wife an
assignment? You can't any way, because I've resigned your position for
you, and your place is already filled. Carlton sent his congratulations
and said his loss was my gain, or something like that. He takes all the
credit to himself."
"Why--why--you wretch!"
"I'm not a wretch--you said yourself I was nice. Look here, Ruth," he
went on, in a different tone, "what do you think I am? Do you think for
a minute that I'd marry you if I couldn't take care of you?"
"'T isn't that," she replied, freeing herself from his encircling arm,
"but I like my work and I don't want to give it up. Besides--besides--I
thought you'd like to have me near you."
"I do want you near me, sweetheart, that isn't the point. You have the
same right that I have to any work that is your natural expression, but,
in spite of the advanced age in which we live, I can't help believing
that home is the place for a woman. I may be old-fashioned, but I don't
want my wife working down town--I've got too much pride for that. You
have your typewriter, and you can turn out Sunday specials by the yard,
if you want to. Besides, there are all the returned manuscripts--if you
have the time and aren't hurried, there's no reason why you shouldn't do
work that they can't afford to refuse."
Ruth was silent, and he laid his hand upon hers. "You understand me,
don't you, dear? God knows I'm not asking you to let your soul rust out
in idleness, and I wouldn't have you crave expression that was denied
you, but I don't want you to have to work when you don't feel like
it, nor be at anybody's beck and call. I know you did good work on the
paper--Carlton spoke of it, too--but others can do it as well. I want
you to do something that is so thoroughly you that no one else can do
it. It's a hard life, Ruth, you know that as well as I do, and I--I love
you."