She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. ‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. “A serious question. I may as well think. She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. The change will come to-day. ‘I’ll make you an offer. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo.
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