"I did," Emeline answered, biting a loose thread from a finger of her
dirty white gloves. "I got Toomey's rent, and told them that we might
want the room on the first."
"Going to give up the flat?" Julia asked, in surprise.
"Well"--Emeline glanced at her husband--"it's this way, Ju," said she:
"Papa can't stand the city, sick as he is now--"
George coughed loosely in confirmation of this, and shook his head.
"And Papa's got a half interest in a little fruit ranch down in Santa
Clara Valley," Emeline pursued. "So I'm going to take him down there for
a little while, and nurse him back to real good health."
"My God, Em, you'll die!" Mrs. Tarbury said frankly. "Why'n't you go
somewhere where there's something doing?"
"My sporting days are over, Min," George said with mournful
satisfaction. "No more midnight suppers in mine!"
"Nor mine, either. I guess I'm old enough to settle down," Emeline added
cheerfully. She and Mrs. Tarbury exchanged a look, and Julia knew
exactly what concessions her mother had made before the reconciliation;
knew just how sincere this unworldly wifely devotion was.
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