“You have not forgotten that we are cousins, surely?”
“I do not care to remember it, Mrs. Forbush. Good-day.”
There was no alternative but for Mrs. Forbush to say “good-day” also, and to descend the steps.
Philip joined her in the street.
“Are you really the cousin of Mrs. Pitkin?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Forbush. “I bear the same relationship to Mr. Carter that she does. We were much together as girls, and were both educated at the same expensive schools. I offended my relatives by marrying Mr. Forbush, whose fault was that he was poor, and chiefly, I think, through the efforts of Lavinia Pitkin I was cast out by the family. But where did you meet Uncle Oliver?”
Philip explained the circumstances already known to the reader.
“Mr. Carter seems to me to be a kind-hearted man,” he said. “I don't believe he would have cast you off if he had not been influenced by other parties.”
“So I think,” said Mrs. Forbush. “I will tell you,” she continued, after a pause, “what drew me here this afternoon. I am struggling hard to keep my head above water, Mr. Brent, but I find it hard to meet my expenses. I cannot meet my rent due to-morrow within fifteen dollars, and I dared to hope that if I could meet Uncle Oliver face to face and explain matters to him, he would let me have the money.”
“I am sure he would,” said Phil warmly.