Alaric sat down gloomily beside his mother.
"I always thought bank directors were BLIGHTERS. Good Lord, what a mess!" He looked the picture of misery. "What's to become of Ethel, mater?"
"Whoever shelters me must shelter Ethel as well," replied the mother sadly. "But it's hard—at my age—to be—sheltered."
Alaric looked at Ethel, and a feeling of pity came over him. It was distinctly to his credit—since his own wrongs occupied most of his attention. But after all HE could buffet the world and wring a living out of it. All he had to do was to make up his mind which walk in life to choose. He was fortunate.
But Ethel, reared from infancy in the environment of independence: it would come very hard and bitter on her.
Alaric just touched Ethel's hand, and with as much feeling as he could muster, he said: "Shockin' tough, old girl."
Ethel shook her head almost determinedly and said, somewhat enigmatically, and FOR HER, heatedly:
"NO!"
"No?" asked Alaric. "No—what?"
"Charity!" said Ethel.