The others looked at one another in amazement. Only Alice understood, and she but vaguely. How had Donald found out? What had been said? She bethought herself of his talk with Hall, and turned on that young man, a dangerous glitter in her eyes.
“What did you say to Donald?” she demanded.
A look of astonishment overspread Mr. Hall’s usually placid countenance. The whole affair seemed absurd and meaningless to him, nor could he see wherein he had been at fault. “We were talking about—about our college days. I—I mentioned some story about Billy West—I don’t understand—”
Alice cut him short. “Never mind, Emerson. It isn’t your fault. They probably quarreled about something else. You and mother go in and have your dinner. I’ll go up and have a talk with Edith.”
Alice’s talk with her sister was short and to the point. Edith, between sobs, told her what Mr. Hall had said, and what, as a consequence, Donald had demanded—that she give up West’s money.
“Are you going to do it?” Alice asked.
“Oh—I don’t know—I don’t know.” Her sister tossed about on the bed where she had thrown herself, moaning as though her heart would break.
Alice regarded her thoughtfully. “I told you what he would do,” she remarked at length. “I don’t blame him. But, after all, he might be a little less unreasonable—just now, too, when Emerson and I are about to be engaged. It’s a shame! Why didn’t you humor him—say you would give the money to mother, or something like that? He has no right to make such a tragedy of the matter. Why not wait a while and see what he does? He may reconsider, and come back.”
“He never will—he never will.”
“Well, then—it’s up to you to decide which you want more—him, or the money. It doesn’t look as though you could have both. Take my advice and go to sleep. Your mind will be clearer in the morning. I’ll have Richards bring you up some toast and tea. Now I’m going to see what I can do to set this thing right with Emerson.”