Donald regarded her coldly. “My wife will not have thirty thousand dollars a year if she returns here,” he said. “She will have what I am able to give her, and no more.”
“Then what on earth will she do with her money?”
“I intend that she shall give it to charity.”
“Charity! Doesn’t charity begin at home? If you are mad enough to deprive her of it, she must give it to Alice and to me.”
“Never—with my consent. That would be the same as if she had it herself.”
“Half a million dollars! To charity! I shall use every effort to prevent her from making such a fool of herself. I insist that she give the money to Alice and me.”
“Count me out, mother,” exclaimed Alice, with a short laugh. “Emerson wouldn’t let me touch a cent of it. He told me so.”
“Does Mr. Hall know about this?” asked Donald suddenly.
“Of course he does. How could he help it? Do you suppose I could keep it from him, after what you did last night? Edith in hysterics—you and Bobbie gone—mother carrying on like a chicken with its head off. What could you expect?”