"Why, yes!"
"Try to collect more money than she does, Mabel."
"I will try to. Won't you give me something, too, in church?"
"I am not going, dearie. I am tired and cold. I will give it you now and you shall place the money in your plate."
Feeling on the large sofa Annie Clarke found her cheque-book, and drew out her gold pen. Mechanically, on her knees, she wrote a figure on a cheque, almost without looking, signed it, detached the leaf lightly, and, after blotting it, gave it to her daughter.
"Four hundred dollars, Mabel. But there are few rich Catholics here. All the rich people are Jews," murmured Annie Clarke, with a disparaging sneer. "Shall you collect alone?"
"Oh, no; each of us has a companion."
"Who accompanies the Archduchess Vittoria?"
"Comte de Roy, the little Count."
"And you? Don Vittorio Lante, I suppose, my dear?"