"I do not understand you," I replied; "help her? She enjoyed it, of course."
"But can't you see for yourself," he continued, and his voice was emphatic and his eyes shone with suppressed indignation, "that your mother is starving. She will not complain; she is one of the best and sweetest women I have ever met, but all the same, I am anxious about her, this life does not suit her—not at all."
"I am sure you are mistaken; I do not think mother is as miserable as you make her out to be," I replied. "I know, of course, she enjoyed this evening."
"She must have more evenings like this," he continued; "many more, and you must not be angry if I try to make things pleasant for her."
"Mr. Randolph," I said impulsively, "you puzzle me dreadfully. I cannot imagine why you live with us; you do not belong to the class of men who live in boarding-houses."
"Nor do you belong to the class of girls who keep boarding-houses," he replied.
"No, but circumstances have forced mother and me to do what we do. Circumstances have not forced you. It was my whim that we should earn money in this way. You don't think that I was cruel to mother. She certainly did not want to come here, it was I who insisted."
"You are so young and so ignorant," he replied.
"Ignorant!" I cried.
"Yes, and very young." He spoke sadly. "You cannot see all that this means to an older person," he continued. "Now, do not be angry, but I have noticed for some time that your mother wants change. Will you try to accept any little amusements I may be able to procure for her in a friendly spirit? I can do much for her if it does not worry you, but if you will not enjoy her pleasures, she will not be happy either. Can you not understand?"