evenings.

"Why, my dear, you surely knew long before this that some people are rich
and others poor--to say nothing of the betwixts and betweens." She was an
exact woman in small matters. "That's all there is to it. I thought it a
good idea to send you to a private school where you might make friends
among girls of your own class."

"Own class? They treat me like dirt. How am I of their class when they live
in palaces and I in a hovel?"

"I have reproved you many times for exaggerated speech. What I meant was
that you are as well-born as any of them (better than many) only we have
been unfortunate. Your father tried hard enough, but he just doesn't seem
to have the money-making faculty like so many men. Now, we've had a little
luck I'm really hopeful. I've just had a nice letter from your Aunt Eliza
Goring--I named you for her, but I couldn't inflict you with Eliza. You
know she is many years older than I am and has no children. She was out
here once just before you were born. We--we were very hard up indeed. It
was she who furnished this cottage for us and paid a year's rent. Soon
after, your father got his present position and we have managed to
get along. She always sends me a little cheque at Christmas and I am
sure--well, there are some things we don't say....But this legacy from your
Aunt Jane is the only real stroke of luck we ever had, and I can't help
feeling hopeful. I do believe better times are coming....It used to seem
terribly hard and unjust that so many people all about us had so much and
we nothing, and that in this comparatively small city we knew practically
no one. But I have got over being bitter and envious. You do when you are
busy every minute. And then we have the blessing of health, and Mortimer is
the best boy in the world, and you are a very good child when you are not