“It’s cash, cash, cash—that’s what it is,” chanted Mrs. Corrie softly.
“Oh, do you?” said Miriam. “I think a handsome man’s generally so weak.”
Mrs. Craven stared into the fire.
“You take the one who’s got the ooftish, my friend,” said Mrs. Corrie.
“But you say I’m not to marry.”
“You shall marry when my poor little old kiddies are grown up. We’ll find you a very nice one with plenty of money.”
“Then you don’t think marriage is a failure,” said Miriam, with immense relief.
Mrs. Corrie leaned towards her with laughter in her clear light eyes. It seemed to fill the room. “Have some more coffy-drink?”
“No, thanks,” said Miriam, shivering.
“Sing us something—she sings, Mélie—German songs. Isn’t she no end clever?”