“I suppose you have come after money?” said Alonzo coarsely.
“I sha'n't ask you for any, at any rate,” said Phil angrily.
“No; it wouldn't do any good,” said Alonzo; “and it's no use asking ma, either. She says you are an adventurer, and have designs on Uncle Oliver because he is rich.”
“I shall not ask your mother for any favor,” said Phil, provoked. “I am sorry not to meet your uncle.”
“I dare say!” sneered Alonzo.
Just then a woman, poorly but neatly dressed, came down stairs. Her face was troubled. Just behind her came Mrs. Pitkin, whose face wore a chilly and proud look.
“Mr. Carter has left the city, and I really don't know when he will return,” Phil heard her say. “If he had been at home, it would not have benefited you. He is violently prejudiced against you, and would not have listened to a word you had to say.”
“I did not think he would have harbored resentment so long,” murmured the poor woman. “He never seemed to me to be a hard man.”
Phil gazed at the poorly dressed woman with a surprise which he did not attempt to conceal, for in her he recognized the familiar figure of his landlady. What could she have to do in this house? he asked himself.
“Mrs. Forbush!” he exclaimed.