“I thought,” Edith said, somewhat nervously, “that he seemed rather surprised at the way we are living here. I suppose he wonders where all the money is coming from.”
“I suppose so. He did seem a bit overcome, when he saw the auto. Asked me if Donald had struck a gold mine.”
“A gold mine! Alice! He doesn’t know anything about the—will, does he?” Mrs. Rogers seemed troubled, her face had lost its animation, her eyes took on a hunted look.
“I don’t think so,” replied her sister, “but why shouldn’t he?”
“I’d rather he didn’t. It might look—well, sort of queer—and then, Donald might not want him to think—”
“To think what?” interrupted Alice sharply.
“Oh, nothing! I suppose he’ll have to know, some time. Only it seems, somehow, to make Donald look sort of cheap—don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t,” said Alice bluntly. “There is nothing to be ashamed of—at least, nothing that anybody knows anything about. You seem to be getting awfully considerate of Donald lately.”
“Perhaps I’m only just beginning to find out what a splendid fellow he is.”
“Well, if you are, I’m glad of it, but I shouldn’t get up any more excitement about this money if I were you. It will look suspicious.”