"Rob wants me to come out there and be married," pursued the girl, bending nearer to the mirror and returning her own gaze with sympathy.
"Why, Ethel!" Mrs. Weaver's voice was full of astonished disapproval. "I should think you'd be ashamed to say such a thing."
"I didn't say it; Rob said it," returned the girl, making a little grimace at herself in the glass.
"Well, I have my opinion of a young man that will say such a thing to a girl. If a girl's worth having, she's worth coming after."
Mrs. Weaver made this latter announcement with an air of triumph in its triteness. Her daughter gave a little sniff of contempt.
"Well, if a fellow's worth having, isn't he worth going to?" she asked with would-be flippancy.
"Why, Ethel Imogen Weaver!" Mrs. Weaver repeated her daughter's name slowly, as if she hoped its length might arouse in the owner some sense of her worth. "I never did hear the like."
The girl left the mirror, and seated herself in a chair in front of her mother.
"It'll cost Rob a hundred dollars to come here and go back to California, and a hundred dollars goes a long way toward fixing up. Besides, he'll lose his job. I'd just as soon go out there as have him come here. If people don't like it they—they needn't."
The girl's fresh young voice began to thicken, and she glanced about in restless search of diversion from impending tears.