There was an unwonted touch of acerbity in his tone that brought a quick glance from Irene.
“They are not both money-lenders,” she remarked.
“Oh, Minna—she is right enough.”
“I’m sorry for the poor girl,” said Irene. “I wish she would let me be a friend to her, but she won’t. I wonder why.”
“What do you want to worry about her for?” asked her husband, between the whiffs of his newly regulated pipe.
“I pity her so.”
“Some people don’t like being pitied. I don’t.”
“But you are not a pretty girl cut by society,” insisted Irene.
“She’s proud, you know,” said Hugh. He might have adduced a reason much nearer home. As it was, he gave a hint of it.
“The moon, Irene, pales as a matter of course before the sun; but it’s an open question whether the moon likes it.”