“A hundred dollars!” she repeated. “Well, I want to know!”
The two women exchanged swift glances.
“You wouldn’t want to buy any pieces that had been broke, I s’pose,” suggested Mrs. Dodge.
“If they can be repaired, I certainly do,” replied Lydia.
“Mother!” expostulated Fanny, in a low but urgent tone. “Ellen and I—we really ought to be going.”
The girl’s face glowed with shamed crimson. She felt haughty and humiliated and angry all at once. It was not to be borne.
Mrs. Dix was not listening to Fanny Dodge.
“I bid in the big, four-post mahogany bed at the auction,” she said, “and the bureau to match; an’ I believe there are two or three chairs about the house.”
“We’ve got a table,” chimed in Mrs. Dodge; “but one leg give away, an’ I had it put up in the attic years ago. And Fanny’s got a bed and bureau in her room that was painted white, with little pink flowers tied up with blue ribbons. Of course the paint is pretty well rubbed off; but—”
“Oh, might I have that set?” cried Lydia, turning to Fanny. “Perhaps you’ve grown fond of it and won’t want to give it up. But I—I’d pay almost anything for it. And of course I shall want the mahogany, too.”