“If I might say one thing more,” Hope whispered.
“Certainly,” said her aunt. “Ruth, go to my chamber, and get me a pin.”
“What kind of a pin, ma’am?” asked that meek handmaiden, from the doorway.
“What a question!” said her indignant mistress. “Any kind. The common pin of North America. Now, Hope?” as the door closed.
“I think it better, auntie,” said Hope, “that Philip should not stay here longer at present. You can truly say that the house is full, and—”
“I have just had a note from him,” said Aunt Jane severely. “He has gone to lodge at the hotel. What next?”
“Aunt Jane,” said Hope, looking her full in the face, “I have not the slightest idea what to do next.”
(“The next thing for me,” thought her aunt, “is to have a little plain speech with that misguided child upstairs.”)
“I can see no way out,” pursued Hope.
“Darling!” said Aunt Jane, with a voice full of womanly sweetness, “there is always a way out, or else the world would have stopped long ago. Perhaps it would have been better if it had stopped, but you see it has not. All we can do is, to live on and try our best.”