“I suppose so,” she admitted absently, her mind upon the table decorations for the luncheon she was giving.
“It’ll mean quite a good deal of money, too,” added Marjorie; “for the mother will probably die; and if she doesn’t she won’t be strong enough to support her child for a long time.”
“Oh well, if she dies we can put the baby into an orphan asylum,” said Lily. “They’re really awfully nice places now—not a bit like the dreary, old-fashioned kind you read about. Father is on the Board of one, and he says it’s run very decently.”
“But I would hate to put little Betty into one,” objected Marjorie. “And I’m afraid it would break Daisy’s heart, after she promised the mother, you know.”
“I suppose we’ll have to see what we can do. Now then, let’s go to sleep, so we’ll be fresh for tomorrow. But first I want to ask you one thing: have you seen John Hadley since the vacation started?”
Marjorie felt herself flushing at the mention of that young man’s name, and was glad that all the lights, except the tiny boudoir lamp between the twin beds, were extinguished, so that Lily would not notice her agitation.
“Yes, once. Why?”
“Oh, I just wondered. Because you’re going to see him tomorrow night. He and Dick Roberts are going to take us to the theatre.”
“How perfectly wonderful!” exclaimed Marjorie. “But I thought that they were both living in Philadelphia.”
“So they are—and are just coming to New York to see us! Now, isn’t that thrilling?”