"Lazarus has some. That's enough, and more than enough."
"Lazarus deserves it—he is a better son to me than you are a daughter!" and the tears fell again.
Salvina cast about for what to do. Her mother's nerves were no doubt entirely disorganized by her sufferings and by the shock of Lazarus's trick. Some radical medicine must be applied. But every day Duty took Salvina to school and harassed her there and drove her to private lessons afterward, and left her neither the energy nor the brain for further innovations. And whenever she met Lazarus by accident—for she was too outraged to visit a house practically kept up by dishonourable money, apart from her objection to its perpetually festive atmosphere of solo-whist supper-parties—he would sneer at her high and mighty airs in casting out the furniture. "Oh, we're very grand now, we keep a servant; we have cut our father off with a shilling."
She wished her mother would not go to see Lazarus, but she felt she had not the right to interfere with these visits, though Mrs. Brill returned from them, fretful and restive. Evidently Lazarus must be still insinuating reconciliation.
"Lazarus worries you, mother, I feel sure," she ventured to say once.
"Oh, no, he is a good son. He wants me to live with him."
"What! On her money!"
"It isn't her money—your father made it on the Stock Exchange."
"Who told you so?"
"Didn't you hear Lazarus say so yourself?"