“Why don't you go and speak to her?” Tavernake asked.
The professor shivered.
“There has been a disagreement,” he explained. “Beatrice and Elizabeth have quarreled. Mind you, Beatrice was right.”
“Then why don't you go to her instead of staying with Elizabeth?” Tavernake demanded, bluntly.
The professor temporarily collapsed. He drank heavily of the whiskey and soda by his side, and answered gloomily.
“My young friend,” he said, “Beatrice, when she left us, was penniless. Mind you, Elizabeth is the one with brains. It is Elizabeth who has the money. She has a strong will, too. She keeps me there whether I will or not, she makes me do many things—many things, surely—which I hate. But Elizabeth has her way. If I had gone with Beatrice, if I were to go to her now, I should be only a burden upon her.”
“You have no money, then?” Tavernake remarked.
The professor shook his head sadly.
“Speculations, my young friend,” he replied, “speculations undertaken solely with the object of making a fortune for my children. I have had money and lost it.”
“Can't you earn any?” Tavernake asked. “Beatrice doesn't seem extravagant.”