They followed her and waited while she lighted the blue china lamp on the centre table; then, at her request, they sat down. The occasion, as she intended it should, had taken on a solemn and important air; she faced them, flushed, serious, dogged.
“Grandma,” she began, “I’ve been thinking a great deal.... I don’t think we ought to go on like this.... Frankie and I aren’t children now, you know.... I think—we ought to know how things stand.”
The old lady looked at her but said nothing; she was waiting for a more definite challenge. She got it at once.
“I mean,” said Minnie, stoutly, “what have we got to live on?”
“What’s this!” cried the old lady tartly.
“I know we’re in debt. People are getting—horrid. They don’t want your—our trade. Really, Grandma, you ought to talk things over with Frankie and me.”
The old lady was almost unable to speak.
“I never!” she repeated, again and again, “I never! At my time of life ... talking things over with two girls of your age!”
“We only want to help,” said Minnie, ingeniously including her sister.
“I’ve got on pretty well for seventy-five years without your assistance,” said the old lady.