“So you have become quite a public character, Miss Ford,” said the modiste, superciliously.
Helen looked up, but did not speak.
“I heard you sing at the theatre, last evening.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Nothing would have induced me to come forward so publicly at your age. However, I suppose you don’t mind it.”
“No,” said Helen, with rising color; “I don’t mind it, since it enables me to earn money for my father.”
“Isn’t your father well? It isn’t usual for children to be called upon to support their parents.”
“Good morning, M’lle Fanchette,” said Helen, abruptly. The implied censure upon her father kindled her resentment as no insult to herself would have done.
M’lle Fanchette looked after her with a sneer. “So my lady is putting on airs, is she? I don’t believe her father’s invention will ever come to anything. Perhaps I had better take no further notice of her.”
Just as Helen reached the door of her father’s room, she saw the occupant of the opposite apartment standing at his door. He was a young man of middle height, with a face whose boyish bloom had hardly given place to the more mature expression of manhood.