Mrs. Castlemaine folded up her slipper quietly and left the room; she was boiling over with rage, in spite of her apparent calmness. Flora, who stood in fear of her father, flew off to the kitchen, to demand bread and jam and worry the servants. Ethel was going on with her drawing; and Mr. Castlemaine, who had a taste for sketching himself, went and looked over her.
"Thank you, papa," she softly said, lifting to him for a moment her loving eyes. "It would have been bad both for Flora and for me."
"Of course it would," he replied: "Flora ought to have a good tight rein over her. What's this you are doing, Ethel? The Friar's Keep! Why, what a curious coincidence! Mary Ursula was filling in just the same thing last night."
"Was she, papa? It makes a nice sketch."
"You don't draw as well as Mary Ursula does, Ethel."
"I do nothing as well as she does, papa. I don't think anybody does."
"What are those figures in the foreground?"
"I meant them for two of the Grey Sisters. Their cloaks are not finished yet."
"Oh," said Mr. Castlemaine, rather shortly. "And that's a group of fishermen, I see: much the more sensible people of the two."
"What did Mary Ursula say last night, papa?"