She smiled faintly. “I’m more than two years older than ma was, and she thinks it would be fine because Alvin—Mr. Short—has so much money.”
“Still she won’t—surely she won’t—” He hesitated, unable to picture a mother who would sacrifice her daughter to such a man. He had seldom seen the tired, frowzy woman who kept out of sight when Erminie had callers.
“Ma always does as dad says. It’s the easiest way to keep peace in the family. Sometimes she spunks up a little, as to-day. Daddy’s generally good to her, though; to me, too, if I do as he wants. But lately he won’t stand for anything from us.”
“What can you do for a living?”
She sighed and drew in her lip. “Nothing well, Billy; but I can learn housework, I suppose.”
“Don’t you know that already?” He thought of his capable mother, of his sister, who was a good housekeeper as well as an accomplished musician.
“No. Ma has always made me save my hands and complexion, study, take music, go to dancing school, and all that, because she was sure I’d marry rich.”
Billy thought hard. Wild notions of succoring this girl, of taking her to his own home, of leaving school and going to work that he might support her, of doing something, anything worthy of a man on whom womanhood calls for help. A dozen equally impossible plans surged through his excited brain; but he could not think of anything definite, practical enough.
“Don’t look so hurt—so angry, Billy. Something will turn up. You’ve told me what I wanted to be sure about, the sort of man Alvin Short is, and—”
“Perhaps some of it isn’t true. I’ll find out exactly.”