The rattle of a key in the door warned her of Donald’s approach. She composed her face in a smile, and rose to greet him as he entered. “My dear Donald,” she exclaimed effusively, “I’m so glad to see you!”
“Good-evening, mother. You don’t mind?” Donald replied pleasantly, holding up the cigar he was smoking.
“Oh, not in the least.” Mrs. Pope resumed her chair with a self-satisfied air. “My poor dear J. B. always smoked the very best Havanas. I love the odor of a good Havana cigar.”
Donald went over to the desk and seated himself in his accustomed chair. “I’m afraid you won’t like this one, then,” he said, with a short laugh. “Pure Connecticut, five straight. I can’t afford the imported kind.”
Mrs. Pope took no notice of his remarks on the subject of cigars. She looked from Alice to Edith, as though to gather courage, preened herself with a conscious effort, then plunged into the fray. “Donald,” she began, “we were just speaking of our plans for the summer. I know you will be interested on Edith’s account, and Bobbie’s. The poor child doesn’t look very well. Edith tells me he has a racking cough. Now let me tell you what we propose to do. Edith thinks it a perfectly splendid plan.”
“Mother, you know what I told you,” began Mrs. Rogers warningly.
“Never mind, child. I wish to place the matter before Donald in a businesslike way. I am an old woman, but I am willing to sacrifice myself for my children’s sake.”
“I couldn’t think of letting you do anything of the sort on Edith’s account,” remarked Donald dryly.
“Edith is my child, Donald. I must think of her welfare. I propose to rent a cottage at the seashore—a little bungalow—”
“I know all about it, mother,” interrupted Donald, with a look of weariness. “Edith has told me. We can’t do it this summer.”