"I suppose she thinks a mother is a sort of nuisance. She wants to set up housekeeping with her friend."
"The little wretch!"
"Not exactly. But I did want that apartment myself, as I am fond of it. I think I'll take a roomer."
"Mother!" Catherine stared at her.
"She's been reading something a German wrote. What is his name? Freud. She's been thinking, too, I am afraid."
Catherine was silent; she recognized her instinctive protest as a flourish of habit, of righteousness for someone else. After all——
"She needn't be so apologetic," said Mrs. Spencer deliberately. "If she doesn't need me, I shall be glad to find someone nearer my own age."
Letty's deep voice announced her awakening. Mrs. Spencer decided to walk over to Riverside with Catherine and the children, as she could go on downtown from there by bus. After several minutes of agitated preparation, a frantic search for roller skates, they were in the hall, Letty rolling noisily along on her wooden "Go-Duck," her busy legs waving like plump antennæ. Catherine held the strap of Marian's skates firmly; Marian was all for skating right down the hall. Then, just as the elevator came, Catherine remembered that she hadn't paid Flora for the week.
Flora's gold tooth flashed as Catherine handed her the money.