"Say thirty. Twenty-five from two hundred and fifty, two hundred and twenty-five. Deduct funeral. One hundred and ninety-five. "There you are. One hundred and ninety-five pounds for carting me to Canada." "If you feel like that about it you ought to tell them. They can't make you go if you don't want to." "They're not making me go. I'm going. I couldn't possibly stay after the beastly things they've said." "What sort of things?" "About my keep and my being no good and making work in the house." "They didn't--they couldn't." "Edward did. He said if it wasn't for me Mamma wouldn't have to have Maggie. Catty could do all the work. And when Victor sat on him and said Mamma was to have Maggie whatever happened, he jawed back and said she couldn't afford both Maggie and me." "Catty could do Maggie's work and I could do Catty's, if you'd stop. It would be only cleaning things. That's nothing. I'd rather clean the whole house and _have_ you." "You wouldn't. You only think you would." "I would, really. I'll tell them." "It's no use," he said. "They won't let you." "I'll make them. I'll go and tell Edward and Victor now." She had shot up from the floor with sudden energy, and stood looking down at Roddy as he still crouched there. Her heart ached for him. He didn't want to go to Canada; he wanted to stay with Mamma, and Mamma was driving him away from her, for no reason except that Uncle Edward said he ought to go. She could hear the dining-room door open and shut again. They were coming. Roddy rose from the floor. He drew himself up, stretching out his arms in a crucified attitude, and grinned at her. "Do you suppose," he said, "I'd let you?" He grinned at Uncle Edward and Uncle Victor as they came in. "Uncle Victor," she said, "Why should Roddy go away? If it's Maggie, we don't really want her. I'll do Catty's work and he'll do the garden. So he can stay, can't he?" "He _can_, Mary, but I don't think he will." "Of course I won't. If you hadn't waited to mix me up with Alderson I could have cleared out and got there by this time. You don't suppose I was going to sponge on my mother for ever, do you?" He stood there, defying Uncle Edward and Uncle Victor, defying their thoughts of him. She wondered whether he had forgotten the two hundred pounds and whether they were thinking of it. They didn't answer, and Roddy, after fixing on them a look they couldn't meet, strode out of the room. She thought: How like Mark he is, with his tight, squared shoulders, holding his head high. His hair was like Mark's hair, golden brown, close clipped to the nape of his neck. When he had gone it would be like Mark's going. "It's better he should go," Uncle Victor said. "For his own sake." Uncle Edward said, "Of course it is."