"But in twenty years," suggested Eloise, hopefully. "Think of all the progress that has been made in twenty years."
"I know," said Allan, doubtfully. "All we can do is to see. And if anything can be done for them, why, of course we'll do it."
"Then we'll go for a little drive," she said, "and on our way back, we can stop there and get the things I bought the other day. They have no one to send with them, and it's too much for one person to carry, anyway."
"I suppose she has sold everything she had," mused Allan impersonally.
"Not quite," answered Eloise, flushing. "I left her some samples for the Woman's Exchange."
"Very kind," he observed, with the same air of detachment. "I can see my finish. My wife will have so much charity work for me to do that there will be no time for anything else, and, in a little while, she will have given away all the money we both have. Then when we're sitting together in the sun on the front steps of the poorhouse, we can fittingly lament the end of our usefulness."
Policy of Segregation
"They won't let us sit together," she retorted. "Don't you know that even in the old people's homes they keep the men and women apart—husbands and wives included?"
"For the love of Mike, what for?" he asked, in surprise.