“Well, why can’t she go to you, Mary?” he asked.
“Me!” Mary almost screamed the word.
“Why, Edgar!--when you know how much I have on my hands with my great house and all my social duties, to say nothing of Belle’s engagement!”
“Well, maybe Jane could help.”
“Help! How, pray?--to entertain my guests?” And even Edgar smiled as he thought of Jane, in her five-year-old bonnet and her ten-year-old black gown, standing in the receiving line at an exclusive Commonwealth Avenue reception.
“Well, but--” Edgar paused impotently.
“Why don’t you take her?” It was Mary who made the suggestion.
“I? Oh, but I--” Edgar stopped and glanced uneasily at his wife.
“Why, of course, if it’s necessary,” murmured Mrs. Edgar, with a resigned air. “I should certainly never wish it said that I refused a home to any of my husband’s poor relations.”
“Oh, good Heavens! Let her come to us,” cut in Fred sharply. “I reckon we can take care of our ‘poor relations’ for a spell yet; eh, Sally?”