“Or more accomplished,” he insisted.
“She hasn’t accomplishments, beside her fine education, and music—”
“All girls play, I suppose he sees other girls—”
“And she saw but one man. That was the trouble. I wonder how fathers and mothers can help that. Roger wanted him to come to board through the winter, said a boarding-house was dismal, and his mother had just died—well, we can’t help it now. Don has cared for all the children—he was great friends with Maurice and John. If she will go to Bensalem and keep house for Roger, it will be just the thing.”
“I think so myself,” he answered, reasonably.
“Roger will be only too happy; his sister Marion has always been his sweetheart.”
“Bensalem will do,” replied her father, hopefully, shifting all his responsibility; “when we visit them next summer she will be as rosy as ever and singing about the house like a bird.”
“Then Roger must accept that call,” decided Roger’s mother positively. “A year in the country will brush off his student ways—it will be the best thing in the world for both of them.”
“And poor Bensalem?”
“It isn’t poor Bensalem,” she retorted, indignantly. “They knew what they wanted when they called Roger.”