Mildred guessed that Frank had made the marriage an excuse.
"Surely some of your relatives will do something for you. I have my hands full, supporting your mother. I don't propose to have two strapping, worthless women hanging from my neck."
She bent her head lower, and remained silent.
"I warn you to bestir yourself," he went on. "I give you four months. After the first of the year you can't stay here unless you pay your share—your third."
No answer.
"You hear what I say, miss?" he demanded.
"Yes," replied she.
"If you had any sense you wouldn't wait until your last cent was gone. You'd go to New York now and get something to do."
"What?" she asked—all she could trust herself to speak.
"How should I know?" retorted he furiously. "You are a stranger to me. You've been educated, I assume. Surely there's something you can do. You've been out six years now, and have had no success, for you're neither married nor engaged. You can't call it success to be flattered and sought by people who wanted invitations to this house when it was a social center."