“Mother, you have a great deal that is quite sweet about you, and you’re throwing yourself away on that awful man! Can’t we go on as we did for a year or two, you living here, and I coming to you in the holidays? Then, as soon as ever I get a good post I shall be able to help you splendidly. Can’t you do it, mother? This whole thing seems so dreadful to me.”
“No, I can’t, and won’t,” said Mrs. Howland in a decided voice. “I am exceedingly fond of my Bo-peep—as I call him—and greatly enjoy the prospect of being his wife. Oh Maggie, you have not returned to be a thorn in our sides? You will submit?”
“Never, never, never!” said Maggie.
“Then I don’t know what you are to do; for your new father insists on my keeping the very little money I have for my own personal use, and if you refuse to conform to his wishes he will not allow me to spend a farthing of it on you. You can’t live on nothing at all.”
“I can’t,” said Maggie. “I don’t know quite what to do. Are you going to be so very cruel as to take away the little money you have hitherto spent on me?”
“I must, dear; in fact, it is done already. Mr. Martin has invested it in the grocery business. He already provides for all my wants, and we are to be married in a fortnight. I have nothing whatever to spend on you.”
“Well, mother, we’ll say no more to-night. I have a headache, but I’ll sleep on the sofa here; it’s less hot than the bedroom.”
“Won’t you sleep with your poor old mother?”
“No, I can’t, really. Oh, how dreadfully hot this place is!”
“You are spoilt by your fine life, Maggie; but I grant that these lodgings are hot. The house at Clapham, however, is very cool and fresh. Oh Maggie! My dear Bo-peep is getting such a sweet little bedroom ready for you. I could cry when I think of your cross obstinacy.”