“And he refuses to let you have any share in this money?”
“I don’t believe he’d marry me, if I had. Emerson’s mighty independent. He says he has enough for both of us, and what he hasn’t we’ll do without.”
“God bless him!” said Donald earnestly. “He’s a man!”
“He’s a fool,” Mrs. Pope exclaimed angrily; “as big a one as you are.”
Her words, her manner since entering the room, had slowly been causing Donald to lose his temper.
“No!” he blazed out, facing her. “You are the one who is a fool. What have you been drumming into your daughters’ heads for years? Money! Money! Nothing but money! You would put up your children at auction, and sell them to the highest bidder, just for money. You come here and blame me for all this trouble, and you haven’t sense enough to see that it is all your fault, and yours alone. Ever since Edith and I were married you have talked to her of nothing but my poverty, my shortcomings, my failures. You have preached discontent to her until she was ready to fall in love with the first man who came along with a little more money than I had. You are the cause of all this trouble—you, and nobody else. Don’t come here and talk to me about my conduct. Try to be a little more careful of your own.”
Mrs. Pope took out her handkerchief and applied it gently to her eyes. “And is this the thanks I get, after all these years?” she said tearfully. Then she turned to Alice: “Are you against your poor sister, too?”
“No, I’m not. I want to see Edith happy, and I don’t think she ever will be as long as she keeps a cent of this money. I know I advised her to keep it in the first place. I thought she could do lots of good with it. So she could, if Emerson hadn’t put his foot in it. As it is, I don’t see anything for her to do but give it up.”
“You’ve changed a good deal, it seems to me,” remarked her mother stiffly.
“I have. I’ve talked it over with Emerson.”