“Agreeable!—they are martyrs, but I am not going to help martyrize them.”
“I quarrel with Berty,” murmured Margaretta, “but I always make up with her. She is my own dear sister.”
“Keep the family together,” said Grandma, shrewdly, “and in order to keep it together let it sometimes drift apart.”
“Grandma, you speak in riddles.”
“Margaretta, you are too direct. I want Berty to stand alone for awhile. She has as much character as you.”
“She has more,” sighed Margaretta. “She won’t mind a word I say—she looks just like you, Grandma, dear. You like her better than you do me.”
“Perhaps I do,” said the old lady, calmly. “Perhaps she needs it.”
“And you are going to let her drag you down to that awful neighbourhood.”
“It isn’t awful—a dose of River Street will be a fitting antidote to a somewhat enervating existence here on Grand Avenue.”
“You want to make a philanthropist or a city missionary of my poor sister.”