"You mean that for sarcasm? It is my selfishness, I suppose, and not my artistic nature, as you call it, that makes me shrink from the disagreeables in life. But I haven't been called to do it, so I don't see why I should."
"You would agree with my mother. She thinks that everything ugly should be put out of sight and kept there."
Sunnie broke in eagerly.
"Cousin Leslie, tell Miss Desmond the story of Margaret Gordon."
"I think you tell that story best. We will listen. Go ahead."
"She was a beautiful lady and very good. We've got her picture in the hall downstairs, and she was a—a—an—"
"Ancestor," prompted the doctor.
Sunnie planted herself well back amongst her cushions, and brought the long word out with much emphasis.
"Ancestor. She used to wear a grey gown and a snood of pearls and muslin apron, and doves always flew about her, because she was so good. She used to take baskets of food to every one who was hungry, and she walked with her hands in God's. And one day, her husband came tearing into the yard on his black horse."
"'Margaret, my enemies are after me. It is a false charge of high treason. I am a dead man if they take me.' So she hid him away in this very house as quick as she could."