"You know how much you do." Charles scoffed at her, but she caught the hint of scratched pride in his voice. "In the middle-class family the wife is the largest economic factor." "Charles, if I work out a scheme which puts no more burden on you"--Catherine's breath quickened--"would you mind my going back to work? I've figured it out. How much I'd have to earn to fill my place----" "You mean--take a job?" "Yes." Charles reached for his pipe. "What would you do about the children?" He cleared his throat. "They seem to need a mother." "Well, they need a father, too, but not to be a door-mat." "Everything I think of saying, Catherine, sounds awfully mid-Victorian." "I know what it all is! You needn't think I don't. But I know the answer to it all, too, so you needn't bother saying it." "I suppose I better consider myself lucky you aren't expecting me to stay home and take care of Letty. You aren't, are you?" Catherine laughed. She knew Charles wanted to laugh; he was tired of this serious talk. "You won't mind, then?" she added, tensely. "You see, if you aren't willing, and interested, I can't do it." "Try it. Go ahead. I'll bet you'll get sick of it soon enough. After all, you women forget the nuisance of being tied to appointments, rain or shine, toothache or stomachache----" "Ah-h"--Catherine relaxed in his arms, one hand moving up around his neck. "It has seemed so awful, so serious, thinking it out alone. You are an old dear!" "All right. Have it your own way." Charles struck his match and held it above the pipe bowl. The light showed his eyes a little amused, a little tender, a little skeptical. It flared out, leaving dancing triangles of orange in the darkness. Catherine shivered. Was he just humoring her, like a child? Not really caring? But she shut her eyes upon the mocking flecks of light and slipped off to the step below him, her head comfortably against his arm. She was tired, as if she had cut through ropes which had held her erect and taut. She could feel the slight movement of muscles in the arm under her cheek, as Charles sucked away at his pipe. The soft darkness seemed to move up close and sweet about them, with faint rustles in the grass at her feet. Queer that just loving couldn't be enough, when it had such sweetness. Her thoughts drifted off in a warm, tranquil flood of emotion; her self was gone, washed out in this nearness, this quiet. Charles stirred, and unconsciously she waited for a sign from him out of the perfect, enclosed moment. He spoke. "I want you to meet Miss Partridge when you come back to town. Great head she's got. We're using her plan of organization in the small towns." Catherine sat very still. After an instant she lifted her head from his shoulder and yawned audibly. "I'm sleepy. The day has been so warm," she said, and rose. She kicked against something metallic and stooped to pick up Letty's red pail and shovel, as she passed into the house. III