“Roger says,” she went on, excitedly, “that you are all—”
“All!” groaned Berty.
“All,” repeated Margaretta, furiously, “or one or two, whichever you like, to come and live with us. He insists.”
“No, you insist,” interrupted Berty. “He has too much sense.”
Margaretta gave a low cry. “Isn’t this ingratitude abominable—I hear of your misfortune, I come flying to your relief—”
“Dear child,” said Grandma, “I knew you’d come.”
“But what do you make of Berty, Grandma? Do say something cutting. You could if you tried. The trouble is, you don’t try.”
Grandma tried not to laugh. She, too, had a tiny handkerchief that she pressed against her face, but the merriment would break through.
“You laugh,” said Margaretta, in awe, “and you have just lost every cent you own!”