She had been thinking that Brent's big fine way of
looking at things had cured her of this bitterness. She found
that it had not--as yet. So she went on, "I'd prefer your
friendship to your ill will--much prefer it, as you're the
only person I can look to for what a man can do for a woman,
and as I like you. But if I have to take tyranny along with
the friendship--" she looked at him quietly and her tones were
almost tender, almost appealing--"then, it's good-by, Rod."
She had silenced him, for he saw in her eyes, much more gray
than violet though the suggestion of violet was there, that
she meant precisely what she said. He was astonished, almost
dazed by the change in her. This woman grown was not the
Susie who had left him. No--and yet----
She had left him, hadn't she? That showed a character
completely hidden from him, perhaps the character he was now
seeing. He asked--and there was no sarcasm and a great deal
of uneasiness in his tone:
"How do you expect to make a living?"
"I've got a place at forty dollars a week."
"Forty dollars a week! You!" He scowled savagely at her.
"There's only one thing anyone would pay you forty a week for."
"That's what I'd have said," rejoined she. "But it seems not
to be true. My luck may not last, but while it lasts, I'll
have forty a week."
"I don't believe you," said he, with the angry bluntness
of jealousy.
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