HELEN FLINGS THE VIOLIN AT MRS. DESMOND'S FEET
"Take it," cried the excited girl, "take it. You have robbed me of my father, now you rob me of that. I hate you."
Not waiting for a reply, she rushed wildly from the room, and a moment later the sound of a banging door, adding a last torture to Mrs. Desmond's sorely-tried nerves, informed all whom it might concern that Helen was safe in her own chamber.
Colonel Desmond sighed deeply and turned away. His wife, always careful and orderly, stooped and picked up the violin.
"I hope it has not suffered," she said, placing it on a table. "It must go back to-morrow."
"Don't be hard on the child, Margaret," said the colonel, not noticing the foregoing remark.
"Am I ever hard on her, John?"
As Mrs. Desmond spoke she crossed the room and reseated herself in her easy-chair, leaning back wearily and wiping her eyes with her delicate lace handkerchief.
"No, my dear, of course not," returned the colonel. "But—"