Helen did not answer. As well she knew, she did not need to. Her mother, once started on this subject, asked only for a listener. Wearily the girl rose to her feet and began to clear the table.
"And it is n't as if he did n't have his hands full, just running over full with his business and all," continued Mrs. Raymond. "You know how successful he is, Helen. Now there's that club—what was it, president or treasurer that they made him? Anyhow, it was something; and that shows how popular he is. And you know every letter tells us of something new. I 'm sure it is n't any wonder I 'm proud of him; and relieved, too—I did hope some one of my children would amount to something; and I 'm sure Herbert has."
There was a pause. Herbert's sister was washing the dishes now, hurriedly, nervously. Herbert's mother watched her with dissatisfied eyes.
"Now there's you, Helen, and your music," she began again, after a long sigh. "You know how disappointed I was about that."
"Oh, but piano practice does n't help to sell goods across the counter," observed Helen dully. "At least, I never heard that it did."
"'Sell goods,'" moaned the other. "Always something about selling goods! Helen, can't you get your mind for one moment off that dreadful store, and think of something higher?"
"But it's the store that brings us in our bread and butter—and codfish," added Helen, half under her breath.
It was a foolish allusion, born of a much-tried spirit; and Helen regretted the words the moment they had left her lips.
"Yes, that's exactly what it brings—codfish," gloomed Mrs. Raymond.
"I'm glad you at least realize that."
There was no reply. Helen was working faster now. Her cheeks were pink, and her hands trembled. As soon as possible she piled Mrs. Mason's dinner dishes neatly on the tray and hurried with them to the outer door of the suite.