"No--it's money she gets for her fads--her work for those tenement
children! She can get money enough for _them!_" He flung out his hand:
"Leave her out of this, please!"
"Very well, father, just as you say." And she sat there hurt and silent
while again he looked slowly through the bills. He jotted down figures and
added them up. They came to a bit over nine hundred dollars. Soon Deborah's
key was heard in the door, and Roger scowled the deeper. She came into the
room, but he did not look up. He heard her voice:
"What's the matter, Edith?"
"Bills for the house."
"Oh." And Deborah came to her father. "May I see what's the trouble, dear?"
"I'd rather you wouldn't. It's nothing," he growled. He wanted her to keep
out of this.
"Why shouldn't she see?" Edith tartly inquired. "Deborah is living
here--and before I came she ran the house. In her place I should certainly
want to know."
Deborah was already glancing rapidly over the bills.
"Why, Edith," she exclaimed, "most of these bills go back for months. Why
didn't you pay them when they were due?"
"Simply because I hadn't the money!"
"You've had the regular monthly amount."
"That didn't last long--"
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"Laura was here."
Deborah gave a shrug of impatience, and Roger saw how tired she was, her
nerves on edge from her long day.
"Never mind about it now," he put in.
"What a pity," Deborah muttered.
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