"How much do they cost?" asked Catherine, gently. Marian's glance bothered her. The child couldn't—how could she?—feel that thicket which had sprung up this last week, enough to range herself deliberately with her father.
"Well, quite a lot of dollars. Four or five or mebbe six." Spencer was doubtful. "But they last forever, Tom says, an'——"
"What would you do with it?"
Spencer caught the tantalizing undertone in his father's voice.
"Listen!" he cried, "of course, listen!"
"Careful, Spencer." Catherine's eyes steadied him; poor kid! She knew that irritating helplessness. "I'm sure it is interesting."
Mrs. O'Lay heaved herself around the table. "That roast ain't so good as it might be," she observed confidentially to Catherine. "Butchers is snides, that's all."
"It was all right." Catherine ignored Charles's lifted eyebrows. The salad did look a little messy.
"Do you think, Mother, that perhaps——"
"Can't you talk about something else for a while, Spencer?" Charles spoke up curtly.