As Reggie had predicted, papa and mama were not particularly interested when I told them I was going to open a studio up town, and even when I added that I might not be able to come home every night, but would sleep sometimes on a lounge in the studio mama merely said:
“Well, you must be sure to be home for Sunday dinners anyway.”
Ada, however, looked up sharply and said:
“How much will it cost you?”
I stammered and said I did not know, but that I would get a cheap place. Ada then said:
“Well, you ought to try and sell papa’s paintings there, too. Nobody wants to come to Hochelaga to look at them.”
I replied eagerly that I would show papa’s work, and I added that I was going to try and start a class in painting, too.
“If you make any money,” said Ada, “you ought to help the family, as I have been doing for some time now, and you are much stronger than I am, and almost as old.”
Ada had been delicate from a child, and already I was taller and larger than she. She made up in spirit what she lacked in stature. She was almost fanatically loyal to mama and the family. She devoted herself to them and tried to imbue in all of us the same spirit of pride.