"Happen to come up—here?" Helen was taken by surprise. She was fencing for time.
"Yes. What made us come here?"
"Why, I—I wanted to be near to make a home for you, of course, while you were at work."
"But why am I going to work?"
Helen stirred restlessly.
"Why, my dear, I've told you. I think every girl should have something whereby she could earn her bread, if it were necessary. And when this chance came, through Dr. Gleason, I thought it was just the thing for you to do."
Indifferently Betty asked two or three other questions—immaterial, irrelevant questions that led her quite away from the matter in hand. Then, as if still casually, she uttered the one question that had been the purpose of the whole talk.
"Mother, have we very much—money?"
"Why, no, dear, not so very much. But I wouldn't worry about the money."
The answer had come promptly and with a reassuring smile. But Betty tossed both the promptness and the reassuring smile into the limbo of disdain. Betty had her answer. She was convinced now. Her mother was poor—very poor. That was why there was to be no maid. That was why she herself was to go as secretary to this Mr. Denby the next day. Mother, poor, dear mother, was poor! As if now she cared whether she liked the place or not! As if she would not be glad to work her fingers off for mother!