Much cast down she returned to her teashop of yesterday. Seated at the same table, her mind went back to the fascinating acquaintance she had made there. Was it possible that a career had been offered her? Or was the suggestion of this new friend merely the outcome of a keen interest in the picture?
It could not be so entirely, because she clearly remembered that Mr. Keller had proposed her sitting to him as a model before she had mentioned the picture at all.
She went back to New Cross Street in a state of gloom; her mind was dominated by a sense of being “up against it.” And this unhappy feeling was not softened by the discovery she made as soon as she entered that cold and uninviting garret. In her absence the lock of her trunk had been forced and the picture taken away.
The tragedy was exactly what she had foreseen. But faced by the bitter fact she was swept by a tempest of rage. It could only be the work of one person. Her fear and dislike of Uncle Si rose to hatred now.
In a surge of anger she went downstairs and in the presence of William charged Uncle Si.
“You’ve been at my box,” she stormed.
He looked at her with a kind of calm pensiveness over the top of his spectacles.
“If you lock away things, my girl, that don’t belong to you, I’m afraid you’ll have to stand the racket.” So lofty, so severe was the old man’s tone that for the moment June was staggered.
“It’s stealing,” she cried, returning hectic to the attack.
Uncle Si waggled a magisterial finger in her face. “Niece,” he said, with a quietude which put her at a disadvantage, “I must ask you not to make an exhibition of yourself. Have the goodness to hold your tongue.”