“I came here for a rest,” he said, “and I find this sort of thing on my hands. Why do you have to drag me into it?”
“Why, Samuel!”
“I don’t know anything about this business. All I do is pay the bills [sic]. That should be enough for you. I came out here for peace and quiet and what do I get? This! I won’t have anything more to do with it.”
“But I only asked you to speak to her about it, to put some sense into her head-"
“Who put this whole thing into her head? You fix it up! You started it. I’m going out in the garden.”
He left her. It was one of his victories.
Mrs. Loamford went to Dorothy’s room. The door was locked. She rapped on it. No answer.
“Dorothy!”
Her commanding cry brought no response.
Silence—and a sound of sobbing from behind the door.
“Dorothy!”
The firmness of the order evoked nothing. She ran down the stairs to her husband.
“She’s locked herself in. She won’t answer. I don’t know what she’ll do. Go to her. See what she’s doing.”
Loamford looked up coolly from a small hill of potatoes which he was weeding casually.
"Huh?"
“She’s locked herself in! She’s crying! She won’t answer!”
“Let her alone, then. It'll be all right in the morning. She’ll get over it.”
“But she won’t answer!”
“I know it. Let her alone. Maybe it’ll be good for her. Maybe she’ll cry away some of that nonsense you’ve put in her head!”
[46]
