"So," said the nurse, glancing around the room with frank disdain, "this is where you hang out, Jason, is it?"
Alora's father confronted the woman with a menacing frown.
"What do you mean by coming here?" he demanded.
"I had two reasons," she answered carelessly, seating herself in the only easy chair the room contained. "In the first place, I wanted to see how a rich man lives."
"Well, you see, don't you?" a muttering growl.
"I certainly do, and I realize you are quite comfortable and ought to be happy here, Jason—you and the millionaire heiress, your daughter Alora."
As she spoke she turned to glance sharply at the child, who met her look with disconcerting gravity. Alora's eyes expressed wonder, tinged with a haughty tolerance of an inferior that struck home to Janet and made her flush angrily.
"Your sneers," said Jason Jones, still frowning but now speaking with composure, "must indicate that you have graduated from servitude. I cannot admit that my mode of living is any of your business, Janet. In these retired but respectable rooms I have worked and been contented for years, until——"
"Until you came into your money and found you didn't have to worry over your next meal," she interjected. "Well, that ought to make you still more content. And that reminds me of the second object of my visit. I want some money."
"So soon?"