“But I would have gladly let you have a little extra if you wanted to go in August.”
“I’d much rather you spent the money on the children. Clara wears out her shoes frightfully—the expense turns my hair gray.”
“Then you wouldn’t care to go with me?”
“No; it would be sinful extravagance to go twice. Give me the money if you’re so anxious to get rid of it.”
“Do be reasonable, Rosina. I dare say the children will enjoy another week of—”
“The children! Much you care about the children. You haven’t asked to see Davie yet, and as for Clara—” Rosina’s scornful accents dried up suddenly. Her acute ear had caught the gentle clatter of the mounting tray. She opened the door for Amy. “You’re sure the water was boiling?” she inquired, pleasantly.
“Yes, mum.”
The mistress produced a little key from her bosom. “You will find a cake in the cupboard under the dining-room sideboard. And bring up the blue-bordered plates, the little ones, please.”
“Yes, mum.”
When the tea was duly served, Rosina resumed: “And as for Clara, I didn’t even write to you she had been ailing. I knew you took so little interest in the poor child. She might die and be buried for all you’d know.”