"Yes, dear; I cannot help feeling as you do," replied Aunt Faith, trying to smile. But her heart was heavy.
Upstairs in the studio Bessie was painting rapidly, while Hugh in the old arm-chair sat gazing out through the open window, much as he had done on that bright June morning three months before, when Bessie had confessed the secret of the unpaid bill.
"How does the picture progress, Queen Bess?" he asked.
"Very well, excepting the eyes; I cannot get the right expression, I have tried over and over again. They are never the same two minutes at a time; I almost wish they were made of glass," said Bessie impatiently.
"Then I would be the bully boy with a glass eye," said Hugh, laughing.
"And a wax nose," said Bessie.
"And a tin ear," continued Hugh.
"And a cork leg," added Bessie.
"And a brass arm, finis," said Hugh; "the weather is too warm for further studies in anatomy."
"What does it all mean, anyway, Hugh? I have heard Tom and his friends say the whole string over and over again with the greatest apparent satisfaction; but to me they convey not a shadow of an idea."