“Monday, I think. They’ll get a notice in the papers again—they always do.”
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Hurstwood consolingly, “we’ll go one of these days.”
Hurstwood moved his eyes over the paper slowly, but said nothing.
“‘We sail for Liverpool from New York,’” Jessica exclaimed, mocking her acquaintance. “‘Expect to spend most of the “summah” in France,’—vain thing. As if it was anything to go to Europe.”
“It must be if you envy her so much,” put in Hurstwood.
It grated upon him to see the feeling his daughter displayed.
“Don’t worry over them, my dear,” said Mrs. Hurstwood.
“Did George get off?” asked Jessica of her mother another day, thus revealing something that Hurstwood had heard nothing about.
“Where has he gone?” he asked, looking up. He had never before been kept in ignorance concerning departures.
“He was going to Wheaton,” said Jessica, not noticing the slight put upon her father.