* * * * *
"What has become of Martha?" Edith asked her father at breakfast the next
morning.
"She left last month to be married," he said.
"And Deborah hasn't replaced her yet?" In her voice was such a readiness
for hostility toward her sister, that Roger shot an uneasy glance from
under his thick grayish brows.
"Has Deborah left the house?" he asked, to gain time for his answer.
Edith's small lip slightly curled.
"Oh, yes, long ago," she replied. "She had just a moment to see the
children and then she had to be off to school--to her office, I mean. With
so many schools on her hands these days, I don't wonder she hasn't had time
for the servants."
"No, no, you're mistaken," he said. "That isn't the trouble, it's not her
fault. In fact it was all my idea."
"_Your_ idea," she retorted, in an amused affectionate tone. And Roger
grimly gathered himself. It would he extremely difficult breaking his
unpleasant news.
"Yes," he answered. "You see this damnable war abroad has hit me in my
business."
"Oh, father! How?" she asked him. In an instant she was all alert. "You
don't mean seriously?" she said.
"Yes, I do," he answered, and he began to tell her why. But she soon grew
impatient. Business details meant nothing to Edith. "I see," she kept
saying, "yes, yes, I see." She wanted him to come to the point.
"So I've had to mortgage the house," he concluded.
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