"Well!" she began. "Here’s——” But she broke down and began to cry wildly.
"Oh, mommer! Mommer! I can’t bear this! I can’t be treated like this! Oh, mommer, not me! Not me! It can’t be true!"
Her mother was glad when she wept. She stroked Angelica’s head in silence, pleased to see her softened, even humbled, happy to see that ferocious hardness gone; not suspecting that that ferocity and that hardness were the very best of Angelica, the very spirit of her. When she wept like this, she was submerged, perishing, going under. With a frightful effort she saved herself and rose above these bitter waters.
"He’ll pay, all right!" she said, looking up with an odd, horrible grin. "You watch!"
"Don’t talk so, my deary!"
"Here—take it! Let’s see how much we’ve got to go on with," she interrupted, pushing the wallet across the table. "He’s always saying he hasn’t got a cent, but I notice he always finds plenty for anything he wants. God knows where he gets it, but he does."
Her mother counted what was in the purse, and turned to Angelica with a look of amazement.
"Why, Angie! There’s only four dollars here!"
Angelica laughed.
"It’s all we’ll get, anyway, mommer," she said. "It’ll have to do."