“Did Mr. Hall ever write you anything more about—about Mr. West after that telegram we sent him?”
“No, never. You remember the answer he sent the next day, telling us poor Billy was dead. He’s never mentioned the matter since. You know he left Denver shortly after that.”
“Yes, I remember. I wonder if he could know anything.”
Alice looked disgusted. “Don’t be absurd, Edith,” she said. “How could he? How could anybody? For heaven’s sake, don’t get yourself all worked up about nothing. I’m the only person in the world, outside of yourself, that knows anything about your affair with Billy West, and I certainly am not going to say anything. I wouldn’t have Emerson know for the world. He might change his mind about me.”
“Alice!” exclaimed her sister. “That’s an awful thing to say.”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I don’t mind his knowing that Billy left you the money. I think he ought to know that. But when it comes to his knowing why he left it—I draw the line. Of course, he couldn’t blame me, but if he thought that my sister was living on the money left her by her—well, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Edith, but he might not care so much about becoming one of the family.”
Edith shrank away from her sister, her face quivering. “You say that to me—you, who advised me to take it!”
“Don’t try to blame it on me, Edith. I advised you to keep your mouth shut, and not make things any worse than they were. I advise you to do the same thing now.”
“So that you can go on enjoying the fruits of my wrong-doing.” Mrs. Rogers looked at her sister scornfully—defiantly.