"If we do go to the Bagni we cannot stay at the hotel," said Mrs. Roscoe, gloomily. "This year we shall have to find some cheaper place. I have been counting upon money from home that hasn't come."
"But it will come," said Maso, with confidence.
"Have you much acquaintance with Reuben John?"
The tone of voice, bitterly sarcastic, in which his mother had from his earliest remembrance pronounced this name, had made the syllables eminently disagreeable to Maso. He had no very clear idea as to the identity of Reuben John, save that he was some sort of a dreadful relative in America.
"Well, the Bagni's nice," he answered, "no matter where we stay. And I know Miss Anderson'll come and pack."
"You mustn't say a word to her about it. I have got to write a note, as it is, and ask her to wait for her money until winter. Dr. Prior, too."
"Well, they'll do it; they'll do it in a minute, and be glad to," said Maso, still confident.
"I am sure I don't know why," commented his mother, turning her head upon the pillow fretfully.
"Why, mother, they'll do it because it's you. They think everything of you; everybody does," said the boy, adoringly.
Violet Roscoe laughed. It took but little to cheer her. "If you don't brush your hair more carefully they won't think much of you," she answered, setting his collar straight.