They had reached the boulevard now, and were standing at the railing over the beach. A little talk had been going on, of course, about this and that--he hardly knew what.
He clenched his fist again, and brought it down on the iron rail.
'Oh,' he broke out--'about Saturday. I forgot. I can't come.'
'No. Awfully busy. You've no idea. You see Humphrey Weaver and I bought the _Gleaner_. I told you, didn't I? It's a big responsibility--getting the pay-roll every week, and things like that. Things I never knew about before. I don't believe I was made to be a business man. Lots of accounts and things. Hump's at it all the time--nights and everything. You see we've got to make the paper pay. We've _got_ to! It was losing, when Bob McGibbon had it. People hated him, and they wouldn't advertise. And now we have to get the advertising back.' If we fail in that, we'll go under, just as he did...'
Words! Words! A hot torrent of them! He didn't know how transparent he was.
She stood, her two hands resting lightly on the rail, looking out at the slowly spreading glow in the east.
'I'm so glad aunt asked you,' she said gravely. 'I wanted you to come. I want you to know. Won't you, please?'
He looked at her, but she didn't turn. There was more behind her words. Even Henry could see that. He had been discussed. As a problem. But she didn't say the rest of it.
Then his clumsy little artifice broke down, and the crude feeling rushed to the surface.
'No,' said she, with that deliberate gravity. 'I don't know that. I think you should.'
'I can't. You don't understand. They wouldn't like it, my being there. They talk about me. They don't speak to me, even.'
'Then oughtn't you to come? Face them? Show them that it isn't true?'
'But that will just make it hard for you.'
She was slow in answering this; seemed to be considering it. Finally she replied with:--
'I don't think I care about that. People have been awfully nice to me here. I'm having a lovely time. But it isn't as if I had always lived here and expected to stay for the rest of my life. My life has been different. I've known a good many different kinds of people, and I've had to think for myself a good deal. No, I'd like you to come. If you don't come---don't you see?--you're putting me with them. You're making me mean and petty. I don't want to be that way. If--if I'm to see you at all, they must know it.'