"Not quite."
"You've had a raise? Or has something better turned up?"
"I've had one little raise. Nothing else has happened—that I can count on. But we can get along nicely now, thanks to your help."
"For which you're not thankful at all," she smiled grimly.
"It was a mistake."
"Humph!" she sniffed. "Have you lived with Shirley four years without learning that she can't stand—"
"Suppose," he interrupted quietly, "suppose we don't criticize Shirley. I shan't criticize you, either. I blame myself for letting her come here. Now we're going to correct that mistake."
Aunt Clara sniffed again. "What has got into you? You used to have no more spirit than a mouse. Now you remind me of your late Uncle John in some of his moods. Suppose Shirley thinks it better—sniff—to stay here a while longer? If you're not out of debt you'll still have to pinch pennies and—"
He interrupted again, still quietly. "You must help to convince her it is best. She must come—before it is too late."
"What do you mean by that—'before it is too late'?"