"Just as a man would," he submitted thoughtfully.
"Just as a man would," she echoed, eager for his sympathy.
"Well, that's Mrs. Carroll's idea. She says that very often, when a girl thinks she wants to get married, what she really wants is financial independence and pretty clothes and an interest in life."
"I think that's perfectly true," Susan said, struck. "Isn't she wise?" she added.
"Yes, she's a wonder! Wise and strong,--she's doing too much now, though. How long since you've been over there, Sue?"
"Oh, ages! I'm ashamed to say. Months. I write to Anna now and then, but somehow, on Sundays--"
She did not finish, but his thoughts supplied the reason. Susan was always at home on Sundays now, unless she went out with Peter Coleman.
"You ought to take Coleman over there some day, Sue, they used to know him when he was a kid. Let's all go over some Sunday."
"That would be fun!" But he knew she did not mean it. The atmosphere of the Carrolls' home, their poverty, their hard work, their gallant endurance of privation and restriction were not in accord with Susan's present mood. "How are all of them?" she presently asked, after an interval, in which Alfie's moaning and the hoarse deep voice of Mary Lord upstairs had been the only sounds.
"Pretty good. Joe's working now, the little darling!"
"Joe is! What at?"
"She's in an architect's office, Huxley and Huxley. It's a pretty good job, I guess."
"But, Billy, doesn't that seem terrible? Joe's so beautiful, and when you think how rich their grandfather was! And who's home?"
"Well, Anna gets home from the hospital every other week, and Phil comes home with Joe, of course. Jim's still in school, and Betsey helps with housework. Betsey has a little job, too. She teaches an infant class at that little private school over there."
"Billy, don't those people have a hard time! Is Phil behaving?"
"Better than he did. Yes, I guess he's pretty good now. But there are all Jim's typhoid bills to pay. Mrs. Carroll worries a good deal. Anna's an angel about everything, but of course Betts is only a kid, and she gets awfully mad."
"And Josephine," Susan smiled. "How's she?"
"Honestly, Sue," Mr. Oliver's face assumed the engaging expression reserved only for his love affairs, "she is the dearest little darling ever! She followed me out to the porch on Sunday, and said 'Don't catch cold, and die before your time,'--the little cutie!"