Mrs. Raeburn, when she heard of the proposal, declined to entertain its possibility. It was useless for Jenny to sulk and slam doors, and demand furiously why she had been allowed to learn dancing if she was not to be allowed ever to make a public appearance.
"Time enough for that in the future," said her mother. "There'll always be plenty of theaters."
Jenny became desperate. Her dreams of a glorious freedom were fading. That night she took to bed with her a knife.
"What are you doing with that knife?" said May.
"I'm going to kill myself," said Jenny.
Pale as a witch, she sat on the edge of the bed. White was her face as a countenance seen in a looking-glass at dawn. Her lips were closed; her eyes burned.
May shrieked.
"Mother—dad—come quick: Jenny's going to kill herself with the carving-knife."
Mrs. Raeburn rushed into the room and saw the child with the blade against her throat. She snatched away the knife.
"Whatever was you going to do?"