Jack’s tone had never so nearly approached anger in speaking to me; never in all his life. I hardly knew how to bear it, and tears were in my eyes. But I managed to laugh; for certainly Cherry was far enough as yet from any likeness to a skeleton. And Jack did not notice my tears, as he would usually have done.
“Then you did speak to Maimie, mother,” he said, staring out of the window.
“Yes,” I replied. “Maimie was in distress at not hearing from her stepfather, and wanted to know how she could work to support herself. I told her that was impossible at present, and I suggested that she should sometimes help Cherry. It seemed to console her a little.”
“Oh well, that isn’t so bad,” Jack said, heaving a sigh. “I was afraid somebody had been at her, scolding or lecturing. Well, I only hope we never shall hear from Uncle Churton at all, and then Maimie will belong to us.”
“That is hardly so kind a wish as I should have expected from you.”
“Why, mother?”
“Because Maimie loves her stepfather. And because your father naturally would like to hear from his only brother. And because we have not the means to support Maimie.”
“But we have no choice;” and his eyes sparkled. “We can’t turn her out, when she has nowhere to go. We really have no choice at all.”
“Not just at present,” I said. “As Aunt Briscoe said, there is only one alternative.”
“What’s that, mother?”