“You may stay with me for three dollars a week, if you cannot pay four,” said Mrs. Forbush, forgetting her own troubles in her sympathy with our hero.
“No, Mrs. Forbush, you can't afford it. You need money as much as I do, and perhaps more; for you have more than yourself to support.”
“Yes, poor Julia!” sighed the mother. “She is born to a heritage of poverty. Heaven only knows how we are going to get along.”
“God will provide for us, Mrs. Forbush,” said Philip. “I don't know how it is, but in spite of my troubles I feel cheerful. I have a confidence that things will come out well, though I cannot possibly imagine how.”
“You are young, and youth is more inclined to be hopeful than maturer years. However, I do not wish to dampen your cheerfulness. Keep it, and let it comfort you.”
If Phil could have heard the conversation that took place between Mrs. Pitkin and Alonzo after their departure, he might have felt less hopeful.
“It is dreadfully annoying that that woman should turn up after all these years!” said Mrs. Pitkin, in a tone of disgust.
“Is she really your cousin, ma?” asked Alonzo.
“Yes, but she disgraced herself by a low marriage, and was cast off.”
“That disposes of her, then?”