“What of—sin?” asked Mrs. Evringham in dismay.
“No, just the opposite—that there needn't be any. The book teaches the truth. I know it.”
“Well, whether it does or doesn't, you haven't any three dollars to spend for a book, Eloise,” was the firm reply. “The idea, when I can barely rake and scrape enough together to keep us presentable!”
“Where do you get our money?” asked the girl.
“Father gives me a check every fortnight. Of course you know that he has charge of our affairs.”
Eloise's serene expression did not change. She looked at the little black book in her hand. “This edition costs five dollars,” she said.
“Scandalous!” exclaimed Mrs. Evringham. “I can tell you this is no time for us to be collecting editions de luxe. Wait till you're married.”
“I'm going to run in town for a while this morning, mother.”
“You are? Well don't get belated. You know that you are to ride with Dr. Ballard at half past four. Dear me,” her brow drawn, “you ought to have that hat. Now I think that I could get on without that jet bolero.”
Eloise laughed softly and drew her mother to her. “Have your jet bolero, dear,” she answered. “My hat isn't bad.”