“No, I am not,” said Ina. “You call Major Arms old, and you don't see—you don't see how a girl can ever fall in love with him, but—I think he's splendid. Yes, I do. You can laugh, Charlotte, but I do. And it is a good deal to marry a man you can honestly say you think is splendid! But you can do a thing, for a very good, even a noble reason, and all the time know there is another reason not quite so noble, that you can't help but take some comfort in. And that is the way I do with this. Charlotte, poor papa does just the best he can, and there never was a man like him; Major Arms isn't anything in comparison with papa. I never thought he was, but there is one thing I am very tired of in this world, and I can't help thinking with a good deal of pleasure that when I am married I will be free from it.”
“What is that, honey?” The two girls had sat down on Ina's window-seat, and were nestling close together, with their arms around each other's waist, and the two streams of dark hair intermingling.
“I am heartily tired,” said Ina, in a tone of impatient scorn, “of this everlasting annoyance to which we are subjected from the people who want us to pay them money for the necessaries of life. We must have a certain amount of things in order to live at all, and if people must have the money for them, I want them to have it, and not have to endure such continual persecution.”
“Ina,” said Charlotte, in a piteous, low voice, “do you think papa is very poor?”
“Yes, honey, I am afraid he is very poor.”
Charlotte began to weep softly against her sister's shoulder.
“Don't cry, honey,” soothed Ina. “You can come and stay with me a great deal, you know.”
“Ina Carroll, do you think I would leave papa?” demanded Charlotte, suddenly erect. “Do you think—I would? You can, if you want to, but I will not.”
“It costs something to support us, dear,” said Ina. “Don't be angry, precious.”
“I will never have another new dress in all my life,” said Charlotte. “I won't eat anything. I tell you I never will leave papa, Ina Carroll.”