“Haven’t a single idea,” declared Erb exultantly. “Go back on me hands and knees and get a berth as carman again, I s’pose.”
“That you never shall,” said the two young women emphatically. “You have some long walks whilst you’re down here,” counselled Rosalind, “and think it over by yourself.”
“If a bit of money’s wanted—” began Aunt Emma.
“All this time,” he said, turning to Louisa and pinching her white cheek, “all this time I haven’t inquired how you are pulling along.”
“I’m as right as rain, Erb.”
“Ah!” he remarked doubtfully, “so you’ve always said. Heard anything of Alice?”
“Not a word from the overgrown minx,” said Louisa with wrath. “If she was here I’d speak my mind to her, and pretty quick about it, too. Oh, yes, I know,” Louisa went on, not to be deterred by an interruption from the rare luxury of an access of temper, “she may have a lot to think of; she takes jolly good care not to think of us.”
“Has anyone written to tell her?” asked Rosalind quietly.
“Why should we?” demanded Erb’s young sister with illogical heat. “It’s her business to find out! But, of course, she wouldn’t care if we was both in the workhouse.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as that.”