You don't apply
yourself to any one thing."
Lilly turned her inflamed, quivering face upon her mother, trying to
speak through a violent aching of tonsils.
"Oh," she cried, "how could you? I'll never look him in the face again!
Oh--oh--how could you?"
"Are you crazy? How could I what?"
"The poem. The--the glint in--his hair. He'll think it was his hair I
meant. Oh! Oh!"
The ready ire which could flame up in Mrs. Becker leaped out then.
"If you are ashamed of your mother, maybe you had better not be seen
out with her again. All I am good for is to stint and manage to get you
pretty clothes."
"No, n-no, mamma, I didn't mean that, dear."
"For a horse-face like him I won't be made little."
"Sh-h-h-h, dear! The whole street car doesn't need to hear."
"I wouldn't give a row of pins for ten like him."
"Mamma, the way you--talked."
"The way I talked, what? I suppose hereafter when I go out with my
educated daughter I will have to wear a muzzle."
"I--Oh, it wasn't what you said, mamma; it was--the way you said it."
"The way I said it? That's a rich one. If I don't tell your father! My
own child is ashamed of her mother.
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