“Oh, well—two hundred and forty, then. We could rent a bungalow, furnished, for a hundred a month; that would leave a hundred and forty for living expenses—we wouldn’t need to keep a girl. Donald could come down for week ends.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do it, mother. Donald says he can’t afford it. I told you what he said.”
“Edith, for goodness’ sake, have a little spirit. Your health demands a change. Your child’s health demands it. And, besides, if you don’t come, Alice and I shall be obliged to go to a hotel and live in a couple of stuffy rooms. We couldn’t afford to take a cottage, just for the two of us.”
“We can’t spare the money, mother. I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything more.”
“What on earth does Donald do with his money, Edith? He certainly doesn’t spend it on you.”
“He is investing it in a glass factory, in West Virginia, I believe.”
Mrs. Pope looked supremely disgusted. “Glass factory!” she snorted. “Isn’t that just like him. He thinks little enough of your happiness. Poor Edith! My poor child! You certainly are to be pitied.”
“He hopes to make a great deal out of it, some day.”
“Fiddlesticks! He might just as well throw it in the street. My poor dear J. B. always said that Government bonds were the only safe investment. Glass factory, indeed!” She seemed unable to contain her indignation.