Alice laughed. “Don’t forget, mother,” she said with a mischievous look, “that he has been to our boarding-house. I guess he’ll be able to match that, at least.”
“Alice, I see no necessity of your reminding me of our present poverty. When your father, my poor, dear J. B., was alive, we lived just as well as the Harrisons’.”
“I know it, mother. That’s one reason why father left debts, instead of a bank account.”
“Alice, how can you speak so of your poor father? He was the best husband I ever knew. He never refused me anything.” She took out her handkerchief and applied it gently to her eyes. “I shall never get over his untimely end—never.”
“Don’t mind me, mother. Poor old dad was the best father in the world.” Alice went over to her mother and patted her consolingly on the shoulder.
“He certainly was,” continued Mrs. Pope. “I never had to ask him for a dollar. He anticipated my every wish. One of the last things he said was, ‘Mary, see that the girls marry well.’ I often think of it, Edith, when I look at you.”
“Oh, well, mother,” rejoined Edith, “I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to marry any man just for his money.”
“It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man, my dear, as with a poor one. I always told you that. With your looks, you might have had anyone you pleased.”
“How about me, mother?” asked Alice mischievously.