She was on the lookout for her father that evening. Warren was going to the house of a friend to supper, as the debating society met there, and it saved him a long walk.
"Father, Electa's letter has come," in a hurried whisper. "She's planned out my visit, but mother thinks—oh, do try and persuade her, and make it possible! I want to go so much."
But Betty began to think the subject never would be mentioned. Supper was cleared away, Doris and James studied, and she sat and worked diligently on her white gown. Then she knew her mother did not mean to say a word before her and presently she went to bed.
Mrs. Leverett handed the letter over to her husband. "From 'Lecty," she said briefly.
He read it and re-read it, while she knit on her stocking.
"Yes"—slowly. "Well—Betty might as well go. She has been promised the visit so long."
"I can't spare her. Even if I sent James home, there's Doris. And I am not as spry as I was ten years ago. The work is heavy."
"Oh, you must have someone. John Grant was in from Roxbury to-day. He has two girls quite anxious to go out this winter. I think the oldest means to marry next spring or summer, and wants to earn a little money."
"We can't take in everyone who wants to earn a little money."
"No," humorously. "It would bankrupt us these hard times. The keep would be the same as for Betty, and a few dollars wages wouldn't signify."