“But, my dear mother,” I said, “what do you want a holiday for?”
“Why, just to see,” she replied, “what it’s like.”
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.
“But, my dear mother,” I said, “I can’t consent to that.”
She folded her hands, not very agreeably.
“Then I’m afraid,” she said, “that I shall have to go without.”
I looked at her.
“Go without?” I asked. “But you can’t. You haven’t any money.”
She smiled a little.
“Oh, yes, I have,” she said. “Quite sufficient for my purpose.”