“Why did you leave it?”
“Because Mother died, and I had not any money to go on with my education.”
“And so you married for a home I suppose,” he snarled, showing his black teeth, “for silken gowns and delicate fare and costly furs such as you are wearing now.”
She did not answer.
“You had better have gone on the streets and stuck to your painting.”
Blanche’s dark eyes met the painter’s horrible leer without flinching.
“I wish I had,” she said.
They had both forgotten me. They were intent upon each other.
And she who never spoke about herself said to this stranger: