Maria's mother was originally from New England, and her conscience was abnormally active. Her father was of New Jersey, and his conscience, while no one would venture to say that it was defective, did not in the least interfere with his enjoyment of life. "Oh, well, Abby," her father would reply, easily, when her mother expressed her distress that she was unable to work as she had done, "we shall manage somehow. Don't worry, Abby." Worry in another irritated him even more than in himself. "Well, Maria can't help much while she is in school. She is a delicate little thing, and sometimes I am worried about her." "Oh, Maria can't be expected to do much while she is in school," her father said, easily. "We'll manage somehow, only for Heaven's sake, don't worry." Then Maria's father had taken his hat and gone down street. He always went down street of an evening. . . .
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