“There is a sameness about the idea,” said Regina, superbly. “I have always flattered myself, Mrs. Marston, that I am one of the few women who can bear to mix her colors. You remember the old story of the young man who asked Sir Joshua Reynolds what he mixed his colors with, and his reply—‘Brains, sir, brains.’”
CHAPTER III
YE DENE
There is something very alluring in the idea of kicking down conventions, yet if this be carried too far, it is possible that all the feminine virtues will follow suit. A woman bereft of all the feminine virtues is as pitiable a sight as a head which has been shorn of its locks.
A couple of years went by, and again the circumstances of the Alfred Whittakers were improved. For the old lady whose husband had courted her for seven long years was taken ill and quite suddenly died. Her death affected and upset Regina very much. It happened that she had not been over to her old home for several days, though Regina, although she was such a good wife, had continued to be also an extremely good daughter, and usually contrived to visit the old people at least twice a week. Just at this time, however, some trifling indisposition of little Julia’s had kept her from paying her usual visit to her parents.
“Here is a letter from my father,” she said one morning at breakfast to Alfred. “He seems to think mother is not very well.”
“Oh, poor dear, poor dear. You had better go across and see her.”