“Go ahead,” said I. “See that she gets it.”
“She shall have the perfect equipment of a lady—of a woman of the world,” continued Edna, with growing enthusiasm. “She has the beauty to set it off—and we can afford to give it to her. I am willing to make any sacrifices that may be necessary.”
I pricked up my ears. I always do when anyone, male or female, uses that word sacrifice. I know a piece of selfishness is coming.
“As I was saying,” pursued Edna, with the serene look of the self-confident woman who is taking her husband in firm, strong hands, “I have been unable to find what I want for her. Mrs. Armitage tells me I’ll not find it except in Paris.”
“Well—why not go to Paris?” said I.
Did you ever lift an empty box that you thought full and heavy? My wife looked as if she had just done that exceedingly uncomfortable thing. “But I don’t see— I—I— It would be a terrible sacrifice to have to go and live in Paris,” stammered she.
“Then don’t do it,” said I.
“But I must think of Margot!” exclaimed she hastily.
“Oh, Margot seems to be stepping along all right. She’ll never miss what she doesn’t know about.”
“But you must realize, dear, what an education she’d get in Paris. And I suppose it would do me good, too. It’s a shame that I don’t speak French. Everyone except me speaks it. They all had French governesses when they were children.”