But so forbidding did Dick’s face become that she broke off in confusion and blushed, as Dick surmised, with shame at the thoughts she had been about to utter.
“Very nice picture Mrs. Forrest make,” he put her at her ease.
The Chinese girl sighed, and the same compassion returned into her eyes as she looked long at Dick’s portrait.
She sighed again, but the coldness in her voice was not lost on Dick as she answered: “Yes, very nice picture Mrs. Forrest make.”
She looked at him with sudden sharp scrutiny, studying his face, then turned to the canvas and pointed at the eyes.
“No good,” she condemned.
Her voice was harsh, touched with anger.
“No good,” she flung over her shoulder, more loudly, still more harshly, as she continued down the room and out of sight on Paula’s sleeping porch.
Dick stiffened his shoulders, unconsciously bracing himself to face what was now soon to happen. Well, it was the beginning of the end. Oh Dear knew. Soon more would know, all would know. And in a way he was glad of it, glad that the torment of suspense would endure but little longer.
But when he started to leave he whistled a merry jingle to advertise to Oh Dear that the world wagged very well with him so far as he knew anything about it.