"Because she is," said H.O.
"But how? What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Bax.
"Why, isn't she?" said H.O.
"Isn't she what?" said Mrs. Bax.
"What you said why about," said H.O.
She put her hands to her head. Her short hair was still damp and rumpled from contact with the foaming billows of ocean.
"Let's have a fresh deal and start fair," she said; "why do you think my sister is poor?"
"I forgot she was your sister," said H.O., "or I wouldn't have said it—honour bright I wouldn't."
"Don't mention it," said Mrs. Bax, and began throwing stones at a groin in amiable silence.
We were furious with H.O., first because it is such bad manners to throw people's poverty in their faces, or even in their sisters' faces, like H.O. had just done, and second because it seemed to have put out of Mrs. Bax's head what she was beginning to say about what would we like to do.