Fenwick's Career

by Mrs. Humphry Ward

'I've brought back that picture of me your husband painted,' said the girl, putting down her parcel on the table. 'It's in there.'

'What have you done that for?' said Phoebe, wondering.

'Because I loathe it—and all my friends loathe it, too. Papa—'

'Oh! do tell me—how is Mrs. Morrison?' cried Phoebe, stepping forward, her whole aspect quivering with painful pity.

'She's all right,' said Bella, looking away. 'We're going to live in Guernsey. We're selling this house. It's hers, of course. Papa settled it on her, years before—'

She stopped—then drew herself together.

'So, you see, I got that picture out of mother. I've never forgiven Mr. Fenwick for taking it home, saying he'd improve it, and then sending it back as bad as ever. I knew he'd done that to spite me—he'd disliked me from the first.'

'John never painted a portrait to spite anybody in his life,' cried
Phoebe. 'I never heard such nonsense.'

'Well, anyway, he can take it back,' said the girl. 'Mother wouldn't let me destroy it, but she said I might give it back; so there it is. We kept the frame—that's decent—that might do for something else.'

Phoebe's eyes flashed.