"Yes, but _how_ much?"

"Really," I began stiffly.

"If you're ashamed to say it right out, just tell me how far it would
take us."

"To about the end of September, I should think."

"Oh, dear! Three more months to go." A frown wrinkled her forehead;
then her brow cleared. "Why, of course we haven't counted in the
holidays."

"They aren't usually an asset."

"Yes, they are--if you spend them with your rich relations. I've got
lots, but I don't think they'd like _you_ much."

"All right," said I shortly; "_keep_ your beastly relations. I shall
go to Uncle Alfred for October. _He_ loves me."

"That leaves November and December," she mused. "Oh, well, there's
nothing else for it--we must quarrel."

"What, now?"

"No, stupid. Every October 31st, by letter. Then I'll go home to
mother, and you'll stay with Uncle Alfred some more. I hope he'll like
it."