Mrs. Pope did not share her daughter’s loneliness. The atmosphere in which she now lived and moved charmed her. With Alice and Edith at her side, a houseful of expensive and competent servants to gratify her slightest wish, with Donald on hand only over the week ends, she felt that her cup of blessedness was once more filled to the brim.
It was late Saturday afternoon. The Sound lay sparkling in the hot August sunshine. Mrs. Pope came into the handsomely appointed hall of their new home, and sank heavily into a padded-leather chair. After all, she felt, this was indeed life in its fullest sense. She fanned herself languidly with a lace fan, regarding her elaborate gown, meanwhile, with much satisfaction. She glanced up as Edith entered the room, looking very lovely in a costume of white lace.
“Has Alice come back from the station yet, mother?” inquired Edith.
“Not yet, my dear. I’m waiting for her now. I suppose I am expected to welcome this young Hall—though I can’t say I want to. I wish Alice had not invited him. If she would take my advice, she would send him about his business. Four thousand a year! Pooh! a beggar!”
“Well, mother, now that we have asked him, we must make him welcome. How do you like my dress?” She came around in front of her mother’s chair.
Mrs. Pope observed it critically through her gold lorgnon. “Oh, it will do, my dear,” she replied. “I should have preferred the Irish point.”
“But, mother, it was five hundred dollars.”
“What of it? Why shouldn’t you look as well as possible? Of course, Donald would never care, but there are others. I heard several people at the hotel say last night that you were the best-looking and the best-dressed woman there.”
“I don’t care what they said, mother,” replied Edith, selecting a rose from a jar on the table, and putting it in her bosom. “I’d rather please Donald.”