for me!” She laughed, short and hard, with angry exasperation, and was unable to find words to continue.
Starwick’s burble of soft laughter answered her:
“I know!” he said, his face reddening a little as he spoke—“But, after all, you are a little tight, Ann”—his shoulders trembled slightly, and his ruddy face grew deeper with its hue of humour. “I think,” he said gently, and paused again, trembling with quiet laughter—“I think it may be what is known as the Beacon Hill influence. And really,” he continued seriously, looking at her with grave eyes, “you really ought to try to get it out of you.”
“Now, Frank,” cried Ann angrily, half rising from the table, “if you start that again about my being stingy—” She sat down again abruptly, and burst out with bitter resentment, “I’m not stingy and you know it!… It’s not that I mind spending the money, giving it to you when I’ve got it…. It’s only that I think everyone ought to try to bear his own share…. If you think that’s my New England stinginess you’re welcome to your opinion…. But I’ve always felt that way and always will!… Stingy!” she muttered, “I’m not…. I’m just tired of being the goat all the time…. It seems to me the rest of you ought to share in the expense some time!”
“But not at all!” cried Starwick in a tone of astonished protest. “I can’t see that that makes the slightest difference,” he went on gently. “After all, Ann, it’s not as if we were four old maids from Boston doing the grand tour and putting down every cent we spend in a mutual account-book,” he said a trifle sarcastically. “It’s not that kind of thing at all. When four people know each other the way we do, the last thing in the world that could possibly be of value is money. What belongs to one belongs to all. Really,” he said a trifle impatiently, “I should think you’d understand that. It’s quite astonishing to see a person of your quality with such a material—rather grasping—view of money. I shouldn’t think it would make the slightest difference to you. You really ought to get it out of your system, Ann,” he said quietly. “You really must. Because you are a grand person—you really are, you know.”
She flushed, and then muttered sullenly:
“Ah! Grand person my eye! I’ve heard all that before! You can’t get around it that way!”
“But you are!” he said, with earnest insistence. “You are a very grand person—that’s what makes the whole thing such a pity.”
