"Quite sure. Do you think I would tell you a story about it?" she demanded, her grey eyes flashing indignantly.
"No, no," Gerald responded hastily; "I was only surprised to think you had spent all your money."
"I don't see why you should be. Let me see," said Angel reflectively, "I bought some notepaper with bunches of violets on each sheet because I wanted to write to Mrs. Steer, and I thought she would be sure to like my letter better if it was written on pretty paper—that was a shilling. Then, the little jar for flowers I gave to father for his studio cost another shilling—that's two shillings. And threepence I spent in sweets one day when I was in the town with Dinah and Dora Mickle—that's two shillings and threepence. And—"
"Oh, I don't want to know how you spent it all!" Gerald interposed impatiently; "since it's all gone, it's no matter."
Angel proceeded with her weeding, her brother watching her with rather a dissatisfied expression on his handsome face. Presently he reopened the conversation—
"Angel, couldn't you ask father to change his mind, and let me have a little money?"
"Oh no, no, I couldn't," she answered hastily.
"Oh, you might. He always does what you ask him—" this in coaxing tones. "Don't be disagreeable, Angel."
"I don't mean to be disagreeable," the little girl said, looking troubled, for she rarely refused any request of her brother's, and it distressed her to do so now, "but I can't ask father for money when he hasn't earned any for months. I'm sure he hasn't much to spare."
"What a nuisance! Well, then, how would it be if you asked Uncle Edward instead?"