"Of course she won't as long as Frederick—"
Waldstricker interrupted her.
"If Frederick does go there, he won't long when Letts finds it out."
Madelene's eager glance brought the unmatched lips aslant of each other.
"I don't think he'll go often," he repeated. "I'll see to it myself. She can marry Lysander Letts or—"
"Or what?" Madelene's elbows came to the table, a hand on each cheek. "Oh, Ebbie, do tell me! I'm so miserable about her. I wish she was dead!"
"But, Ebenezer," said Helen, "it seems awful for such a refined girl to marry such a man!"
The elder's uplifted hand came down on the table with a bang, and higher mounted his proud lip. He ignored his wife's pleading speech, but answered his sister's.
"So will Miss Skinner wish she were dead before I'm done with her," said he.
"Why?"