“Is Evie going to live in Georgia?”
Betty turned a stern glance on her.
“Constance, you’ll lunch up-stairs if you keep on interrupting.”
Constance was unaffected by the threat.
“When is she going?” she asked.
“Never,” I answered.
“I’m glad,” said little Constance, and seeing her mother’s glance averted, stole a cherry from the dish and hid it in her lap.
“From what Harry says, and he’s heard all about Mr. Albertson, he seems a perfectly fitting person, forty-five, of very good family and connections, and with an income of thirty thousand a year.”
“He’ll probably not like me,” I said hopefully.
“Oh, he will,” answered Betty with grim meaning, “I’ll see to that.”