“My dear mother, will you kindly discuss that with Percy when I am not here!”
“Oh, of course, if you wish it, Hazel,” cried Mrs Thorne. “I am not mistress here, Percy. This is Hazel’s home, where I and your poor little sisters are allowed to live on sufferance and—”
Sob—sob—sob.
“Oh, I say, Hazy, it’s too bad,” cried Percy. “You know how weak and ill poor mamma has been, and yet you treat her like this.”
“Yes, my boy; I’m a mere nonentity now, and the sooner I am dead and put beneath the sod the better. I’m only a useless burden to my children now.”
“Don’t talk like that, ma dear,” cried the lad. “You only wait a bit, and as soon as I’ve got my plans in order I’ll make you a regular jolly home.”
“That you will, I know, my dear boy,” cried Mrs Thorne; “and I hope you will try hard to do something to redeem our lost position.”
“What are your plans, Percy?” said Hazel suddenly.
“Oh, nothing that you could understand,” he said haughtily. “I don’t wonder at poor ma being miserable, if you treat her as you are treating me!”
“Percy,” said Hazel gently, “only a few months ago you had no secrets from me, and we planned together how we would work and make mamma a happy home.”