“We must bear things together,” said Catherine. “That’s what we ought to do.” Morris attempted a natural smile. “There are some things which we can’t very well bear together—for instance, separation.” “Why do you speak of separation?” “Ah! you don’t like it; I knew you wouldn’t!” “Where are you going, Morris?” she suddenly asked. He fixed his eye on her for a moment, and for a part of that moment she was afraid of it. “Will you promise not to make a scene?” “A scene!—do I make scenes?” “All women do!” said Morris, with the tone of large experience. “I don’t. Where are you going?” “If I should say I was going away on business, should you think it very strange?” She wondered a moment, gazing at him. “Yes—no. Not if you will take me with you.” “Take you with me—on business?” “What is your business? Your business is to be with me.” “I don’t earn my living with you,” said Morris. “Or rather,” he cried with a sudden inspiration, “that’s just what I do—or what the world says I do!” This ought perhaps to have been a great stroke, but it miscarried. “Where are you going?” Catherine simply repeated. “To New Orleans. About buying some cotton.” “I am perfectly willing to go to New Orleans.” Catherine said. “Do you suppose I would take you to a nest of yellow fever?” cried Morris. “Do you suppose I would expose you at such a time as this?” “If there is yellow fever, why should you go? Morris, you must not go!” “It is to make six thousand dollars,” said Morris. “Do you grudge me that satisfaction?” “We have no need of six thousand dollars. You think too much about money!” “You can afford to say that? This is a great chance; we heard of it last night.” And he explained to her in what the chance consisted; and told her a long story, going over more than once several of the details, about the remarkable stroke of business which he and his partner had planned between them. But Catherine’s imagination, for reasons best known to herself, absolutely refused to be fired. “If you can go to New Orleans, I can go,” she said. “Why shouldn’t you catch yellow fever quite as easily as I? I am every bit as strong as you, and not in the least afraid of any fever. When we were in Europe, we were in very unhealthy places; my father used to make me take some pills. I never caught anything, and I never was nervous. What will be the use of six thousand dollars if you die of a fever? When persons are going to be married they oughtn’t to think so much about business. You shouldn’t think about cotton, you should think about me. You can go to New Orleans some other time—there will always be plenty of cotton. It isn’t the moment to choose—we have waited too long already.” She spoke more forcibly and volubly than he had ever heard her, and she held his arm in her two hands. “You said you wouldn’t make a scene!” cried Morris. “I call this a scene.”