"Some of us were not born then," said the Board school teacher. "I'd as soon marry an actor as a draper—sooner, too." She was a sharp-faced girl, quick and ready—perhaps too quick—with woman's most formidable weapon. "Actors don't sweat shop-girls."
"Alice tells me," John Haveril went on slowly, "that none of you ever made any kind of inquiry after her, or answered her letters—except one—Will—also an actor, who is now deceased."
"How could we, when some of us hadn't even got into the cradle?" asked the teacher.
"I didn't quarrel with Alice," said the bankrupt. "I never saw her nor heard of her. And I didn't quarrel with Cousin Will. Why," he added conclusively, "I borrowed money of him."
"If she had been in want," John Haveril added, "would you have helped her because she was your cousin?"
"Since I, for one, never heard that she was in want"—again the teacher—"how can I tell what I should have done? It's like this, Mr. Haveril—you must know it yourself. It isn't respectable to have cousins ragged and in want. If I could afford it, I would give them money to go away. Look at that Object"—she pointed to the bankrupt. "Object, I call him."
"Object yourself!" retorted the broken one.
"Is he a credit to the family? No; I've got no money to spare, or I'd pay him to go right away. Same with Cousin Alice. Don't talk to us about cousinly love. We like respectability."
"Very good," said John Haveril.
"Cousin Alice has brought you a lot of relations," Alma continued, emboldened. "Here we are, fawning, like Cousin Charles; begging, like Cousin Alfred; and telling you the truth, like me."