"That's not her own money," Roger said.
"No—it's money she gets for her fads—her work for those tenement children! She can get money enough for them!" He flung out his hand:
"Leave her out of this, please!"
"Very well, father, just as you say." And she sat there hurt and silent while again he looked slowly through the bills. He jotted down figures and added them up. They came to a bit over nine hundred dollars. Soon Deborah's key was heard in the door, and Roger scowled the deeper. She came into the room, but he did not look up. He heard her voice:
"What's the matter, Edith?"
"Bills for the house."
"Oh." And Deborah came to her father. "May I see what's the trouble, dear?"
"I'd rather you wouldn't. It's nothing," he growled. He wanted her to keep out of this.
"Why shouldn't she see?" Edith tartly inquired. "Deborah is living here—and before I came she ran the house. In her place I should certainly want to know."
Deborah was already glancing rapidly over the bills.