“I hate that woman, Mr. Pitkin!” said his wife fiercely. “I scorn such underhanded work. How she has sneaked into the good graces of poor, deluded Uncle Oliver!”
“You have played your cards wrong, Lavinia,” said her husband peevishly.
“I? That is a strange accusation, Mr. Pitkin. It was you, to my thinking. You sent off that errand boy, and that is how the whole thing came about. If he had been in your store he wouldn't have met Uncle Oliver down at the pier.”
“You and Alonzo persuaded me to discharge him.”
“Oh, of course it's Alonzo and me! When you see Rebecca Forbush and that errand boy making ducks and drakes out of Uncle Oliver's money you may wish you had acted more wisely.”
“Really, Lavinia, you are a most unreasonable woman. It's no use criminating and recriminating. We must do what we can to mend matters.”
“What can we do?”
“They haven't got the money yet—remember that! We must try to re-establish friendly relations with Mr. Carter.”
“Perhaps you'll tell me how?”
“Certainly! Call as soon as possible at the house on Madison Avenue.”