"They always are."
"It asks particularly how I am, and says he's sorry I have to suffer so. He cares."
Only the swift red in Helen's cheeks showed that the daughter understood the emphasis.
"Of course he cares," she answered smoothly.
"And he sent me a present, too—money!" Mrs. Raymond's usually fretful whine carried a ring of exultation.
Helen lifted her head eagerly.
"Money?"
"Yes. A new crisp dollar bill. He told me to get something pretty—some little trinket that I'd like."
"But, a dollar—only a dollar," murmured Helen. "Now you're needing a wrapper, but that—"
"A wrapper, indeed!" interrupted Mrs. Raymond in fine scorn. "A wrapper is n't a 'trinket' for me! I'd have wrappers anyway, of course. He said to buy something pretty; something I'd like. But then, I might have known. You never think I need anything but wrappers and—and codfish! I—I'm glad I've got one child that—that appreciates!" And Mrs. Raymond lifted her handkerchief to her eyes.