"But we—we must do something," faltered Alice.
"Yes, but not that—at least, not yet. We have some pride left. Wait—wait until father comes back."
With a gesture Alice consented. She sank wearily into a chair.
It was tedious waiting. The girls talked but little—they had no heart for it. Around them hummed the noise of the apartment house. Noises came to them through the thin, cheap walls. The crying of babies, the quarrels of a couple in the flat back of them, the wheeze of a rusty phonograph, and the thump-thump of a playerpiano, operated with every violation of the musical code, added to the nerve-racking din.
Ruth made a gesture of despair.
"Beautiful!" murmured Alice as the paper roll in the mechanical piano got a "kink," and played a crash of discords. Ruth covered her ears with her hands.
There was a step in the corridor.
"There's father!" exclaimed Ruth.
"I wonder what success he had negotiating a loan?" observed Alice.
Mr. DeVere entered wearily.