Donald regarded her coldly. "My wife will not have thirty thousand dollars a year if she returns here," he said. "She will have what I am able to give her, and no more."

"Then what on earth will she do with her money?"

"I intend that she shall give it to charity."

"Charity! Doesn't charity begin at home? If you are mad enough to deprive her of it, she must give it to Alice and to me."

"Never--with my consent. That would be the same as if she had it herself."

"Half a million dollars! To charity! I shall use every effort to prevent her from making such a fool of herself. I insist that she give the money to Alice and me."

"Count me out, mother," exclaimed Alice, with a short laugh. "Emerson wouldn't let me touch a cent of it. He told me so."

"Does Mr. Hall know about this?" asked Donald suddenly.

"Of course he does. How could he help it? Do you suppose I could keep it from him, after what you did last night? Edith in hysterics--you and Bobbie gone--mother carrying on like a chicken with its head off. What could you expect?"

"And he refuses to let you have any share in this money?"

"I don't believe he'd marry me, if I had. Emerson's mighty independent.

He says he has enough for both of us, and what he hasn't we'll do without."

"G.o.d bless him!" said Donald earnestly. "He's a man!"

"He's a fool," Mrs. Pope exclaimed angrily; "as big a one as you are."

Her words, her manner since entering the room, had slowly been causing Donald to lose his temper.

"No!" he blazed out, facing her. "You are the one who is a fool. What have you been drumming into your daughters' heads for years? Money!

Money! Nothing but money! You would put up your children at auction, and sell them to the highest bidder, just for money. You come here and blame me for all this trouble, and you haven't sense enough to see that it is all your fault, and yours alone. Ever since Edith and I were married you have talked to her of nothing but my poverty, my shortcomings, my failures. You have preached discontent to her until she was ready to fall in love with the first man who came along with a little more money than I had. You are the cause of all this trouble--you, and n.o.body else.

Don't come here and talk to me about my conduct. Try to be a little more careful of your own."

Mrs. Pope took out her handkerchief and applied it gently to her eyes.

"And is this the thanks I get, after all these years?" she said tearfully. Then she turned to Alice: "Are you against your poor sister, too?"

"No, I'm not. I want to see Edith happy, and I don't think she ever will be as long as she keeps a cent of this money. I know I advised her to keep it in the first place. I thought she could do lots of good with it. So she could, if Emerson hadn't put his foot in it. As it is, I don't see anything for her to do but give it up."

"You've changed a good deal, it seems to me," remarked her mother stiffly.

"I have. I've talked it over with Emerson."

"Emerson! Pooh!" Mrs. Pope gave an indignant snort.

"Never you mind about Emerson," said Alice with spirit. "He and I are going to find happiness in Chicago, in our own way. I know you don't like him, so perhaps it's just as well we are going to live a thousand miles off."

Mrs. Pope began to weep audibly. "Of all the thankless tasks," she groaned, "a mother's is the worst. Here I've spent twenty-five years in raising you girls, living for you, waiting on you, slaving for you; and, now, you turn on me like this. It's a shame--that's what it is--a shame!

When my poor, dear J. B. was alive--"

"Never mind about that now, mother. We didn't come up here to have a family row. Let's see if we can't fix up this trouble between Donald and Edith." She turned to her brother-in-law with a look of deep concern.

"Mother insisted upon this interview, Donald. I told her it would do no good."

"Not if Donald insists upon making beggars of us all," Mrs. Pope interrupted tearfully.

Alice took no notice of her interruption. "You got Edith's note?" she continued.

"Yes."

"Are you going to her?"

"No. She must come to me. You can tell her so. But I insist upon seeing her alone." He glanced significantly at Mrs. Pope.

"I shall not inflict my company upon you any longer, Mr. Rogers,"

exclaimed the latter indignantly. "Good-night!" She swept toward the door. Alice followed her.

"Good-night, Donald," Alice said, as she left the room. "I hope you and Edith will come to some sort of an agreement. Remember Bobbie."

Left alone, Donald went slowly over to the chair in which he had been sitting, and, stooping, gathered up Bobbie's little shoes and stockings, and placed them gently within the bedroom. Then he began to pace endlessly up and down the floor.

CHAPTER XIX

On the following morning Donald Rogers determined to go down to Mr.

Brennan's office and have a talk with him. As the executor of West's estate, as well as Mrs. Rogers' attorney, he felt that the lawyer might be able to suggest a basis for an understanding of some sort between Edith and himself. Bobbie he took to his own office and left in the care of his draughtsman. The child was delighted, and spent the morning drawing ships and dogs and many other things upon a great sheet of cardboard with which the latter provided him.

Mr. Brennan was luckily in. Perhaps he suspected the object of Donald's visit--at any rate he received him at once, dismissed the stenographer who had been taking notes at his side, and waved his caller to a chair.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Rogers," he began. "How is Mrs. Rogers? I trust she is enjoying her stay at the seash.o.r.e."

"Mrs. Rogers is very well." Donald nervously began to light a cigar, fumbling with the matches awkwardly in his agitation. Now that he was with Mr. Brennan, he felt at a loss to know how to begin.

"Let me see. You are at New London, are you not? Beautiful old place. I spent a summer there, once. You go down for the week ends, I presume."

Donald ceased his efforts to light the cigar, threw the box of matches, which Mr. Brennan had handed him, upon the desk, and looked up.

"Yes. I was there on Sat.u.r.day. I left Sat.u.r.day night. I had a disagreement with Mrs. Rogers. That's what I came to see you about."

Mr. Brennan raised his eyebrows, put on his gla.s.ses slowly, and inspected his caller with deliberate care. "I'm very sorry to hear it, Mr. Rogers," he said. "Nothing serious, I trust?"

"I'm afraid it is--very."

"Hm-m. Dear me! And what can I do in the matter?"

"You are a friend of both Mrs. Rogers and myself. I want your advice. I want you to see her--to talk to her."

"What's the trouble?" Brennan sat back in his chair, prepared to listen, with a grave suspicion in his mind as to the cause of Donald's heavy eyes and careworn face.