Claudia pondered a minute. “Does she still live somewhere in the country?”
“Salisbury. Yes, she gives music-lessons at a shilling an hour! It must be torture to her. Her old mother and she live in a tiny home together.”
“But, Mrs. Milton,” said Claudia, bewildered, “are they as poor as all that? How can they be when——?” She stopped, and then she decided to put the question that had been on her lips. “Will she not accept help from her son Frank?”
“Oh, yes! he does help her—a little.” Then she continued thoughtfully: “It does seem wrong, doesn’t it, that people won’t pay for pictures nowadays. I suppose we shall soon have no artists.”
Claudia stared. “But he gets big prices now for his pictures. A couple of years ago, I know, he was nearly starving, but he gets his own prices now.”
It was Mrs. Milton’s turn to look startled. For the moment she had forgotten that Claudia and he were friends. She tried to gloss over what might have been an indiscretion.
“I’m glad to hear it; perhaps—no doubt he will be able to help them more soon.... I think Miss Ronald would accompany splendidly, and I’ve got her address at home.”
“Mrs. Milton,” went on Claudia, a curious expression in her eyes, “have you heard from this Lucy Hamilton recently? And has—Mrs. Hamilton been a good mother to him—them both?”
“I heard from Lucy only yesterday. I wanted her to come up for a change—you can’t think how she revels in a few concerts, it’s a joy to take her, and I can always get tickets—but her own words were: ‘I’m much too shabby to come to town; such a lot of pupils owe me money, and mother’s illness in the winter was expensive.’” She did not add that the writer had gone on to say that her brother did not like her to come to town unless she was decently dressed, and that though he was getting on and acquiring reputation, he could not at the moment help them more than he was doing.