“I’ll send her down to you.”
“Bertrand, it is something terrible! You are trying to spare me––don’t do it.”
“Ask no questions.”
“Tell Janey I want her to help in the kitchen.”
Mary went back to her work in silence. If Bertrand wished to be alone with Betty, he had a good reason; and 381 presently Janey skipped in and was set to paring the potatoes for dinner.
Bertrand found Betty bending closely over a drawing for which she had no model, but which was intended to illustrate a fairy story. She was using pen and ink, and trying to imitate the fine strokes of a steel engraving. He stood at her side, looking down at her work a moment, and his artist’s sense for the instant crowded back other thoughts.
“You ought to have a model, daughter, and you should work in chalk or charcoal for your designing.”
“I know, father, but you see I am trying to make some illustrations that will look like what are in the magazines. I’m making fairies, father, and you know I can’t find any models, so I have to make them up.”
“Put that away. I have some questions to ask you.”
“What’s the matter, daddy? You look as if the sky were falling.” He had seated himself on the long lounge where she had once sat and chatted with Peter Junior. She recalled that day. It was when he kissed her for the first time. Her cheeks flushed hotly as they always did now when she thought of it, and her eyes were sad. She went over and established herself at her father’s side.