“I’m very sorry, father dear, but I’m afraid we’ll need more money this month.”  He glanced up from his paper: 

“What’s the matter?” She gave him a forced little smile, and her father noticed the gray in her hair.

“Oh, nothing in particular.  Goodness knows I’ve tried to keep down expenses, but—­well, we’re a pretty large household, you know—­”

“Yes,” said Roger kindly, “I know.  Are the month’s bills in?”

“Yes.”

“Let me see them.”  She brought him the bills and he looked relieved.  “Not so many,” he ventured.

“No, but they’re large.”

“Why, look here, Edith,” he said abruptly, “these are bills for two months—­some for three, even four!”

“I know—­that’s just the trouble.  I couldn’t meet them at the time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Laura was here—­and I didn’t want to bother you—­you had enough on your mind as it was.  I’ve done the best I could, father dear—­I’ve sold everything, you know—­but I’ve about come to the end of my rope.”  And her manner said clearly, “I’ve done my part.  I’m only a woman.  I’ll have to leave the rest to you.”

“I see—­I see.”  And Roger knitted his heavy brows.  “I presume I can get it somehow.”  This would play the very devil with things!

“Father.”  Edith’s voice was low.  “Why don’t you let Deborah help you?  She does very little, it seems to me—­compared to the size of her salary.”

“She can’t do any more than she’s doing now,” was his decisive answer.  Edith looked at him, her color high.  She hesitated, then burst out: 

“I saw her check book the other day, she had left it on the table!  She’s spending thousands—­every month!”

“That’s not her own money,” Roger said.

“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?”