"Never."
The boy drew from his pocket a small folded paper. He took off the paper and revealed oiled silk. He unfolded this and a small pen-and-ink sketch came to view. It was of a woman's face, slightly smiling. There was expression in the long-lashed eyes, eyes like the boy's own. The hair waved off the forehead. Bertie held the treasure for Mrs. Lowell to see, but did not relinquish it.
"Is this your mother?"
"Yes."
"Who did it?"
"I did."
"When, Bertie, when?"
"After—afterward," he answered, and his companion could hear that some obstruction stopped his speech.
"It is very—very lovely," said Mrs. Lowell slowly, and the boy looked over his shoulder again, apprehensively.
"Did you say your uncle forbade you to sketch?"