Across the table Helen caught her lower lip between her teeth. For a moment she did not speak; then very gently she said:—
"Mother, you did n't quite mean that, I'm sure. You know very well that I—I'd dress you in silks and velvets, and feed you on strawberries and cream, if I could. It's only that—that— But never mind. Use the dollar as you please, dear. Is n't there something—some little thing you would like?"
Mrs. Raymond lowered her handkerchief. Her grieved eyes looked reproachfully across at her daughter.
"I'd thought of—a tie; a lace tie with pretty ends; a nice tie. You know how I like nice things!"
"Of course, you do; and you shall have it, too," cried Helen. "I'll bring some home tomorrow night for you to select from. Now that will be fine, won't it?"
The other drew a resigned sigh.
"'Fine'! That's just like you, Helen. You never appreciate—never realize. Perhaps you do think it's 'fine' to stay mewed up at home here and have ties brought to you instead of going out yourself to the store and buying them, like other women!"
"Oh, but just don't look at it that way," retorted Helen in a cheerful voice. "Just imagine you're a queen, or a president's wife, or a multi-millionairess who is sitting at home in state to do her shopping just because she wishes to avoid the vulgar crowds in the stores; eh, mother dear?"
"Mother dear" sniffed disdainfully.
"Really, Helen," she complained, "you are impossible. One would think you might have some sympathy, some consideration for my feelings! There's your brother, now. He's all sympathy. Look at his letter. Think of that dollar he sent me—just a little thing to give me happiness. And he's always doing such things. Did n't he remember how I loved peppermints, and give me a whole box at Christmas?"