He went out; his wife followed him into the hall. She came back in a few minutes, and her cheeks were redder than was quite becoming.
“Now, Dumps dear,” she said, “I told you not to speak of your dress allowance to your father.”
“Then he never gave it to me?”
“Well, dear, not exactly. I mean that he did not give it to you in so many words; nevertheless, it is my place to see to these things.”
“But was the ten pounds father’s?” I asked stoutly.
“What is his is mine, and what is mine is his,” she replied.
“Please, step-mother,” I said imploringly, “answer me just for once. Did you give me that money, or did my father?”
“My dear child, will you not understand once and for all that it is my aim and wish to do what I can to make you happy? If you go on trying me, Rachel, as you have been doing lately, you will make me a very unhappy woman.”
She paused; then she said, “Never up to the present moment have I known what real, true unhappiness is. I, Grace Donnithorne, given by nature so cheerful a heart, and, I think, so brave a spirit, and, I believe, the power of looking at things on the bright side—I unhappy!”
She moved away; she stood by the fire. I saw tears starting to her bright, kindly, merry eyes; one rolled down her cheek. I went up to her and took her hand.