“You!” repeated Estelle, in a bewildered way.
“I have written a book. I thought it was a beautiful story. I put my whole self into it, and a year—more than a year—of work, and no publisher will look at it! Or, at least none would until we had gone the rounds, and then received no encouragement at all. And I have to wait and wait to hear from it. And the worst is that I know no one will ever have it—I know it is bad!”
“I don’t believe you ever wrote anything bad,” said Estelle, loyally. “And I don’t believe that my pictures are bad, although they all said so. One dealer said I might leave them with him, although he feared it would be of no use, because his patrons were of the class that understood art! Think of that! Another thought that I didn’t understand composition or color. Some of them were quite civil about the drawings. I found the publishers better than the picture-dealers, but they all had their regular corps of artists—all but one firm. I am to go there to-morrow to show my drawings to the editor of a children’s magazine. But if people won’t buy my paintings, I know they won’t have my drawings.”
Octavia checked the encouraging words that rose to her lips. Her conscience would not allow her to say that she thought any one would buy Estelle’s drawings.
“But I must sell them. I want the money!” Estelle added, with a quivering lip.
“That’s always the way; things won’t sell when you want the money,” said Miss Carruthers, easily. She had sunk down upon a hassock, and allowed her skirts to drift around her in a way that reminded me of the “cheeses” of our childhood, while she still held her picturesque head in a way that suggested posing.
“I know!” she continued, answering my surprised glance, for in so luxurious an atmosphere one did not expect to hear of the need of money. “When Ned and I lived in New York, before Uncle Thaddeus left us this house and his money, we were as poor as church mice. I had to sell my pictures to help Ned pay his college expenses. It was a country college, too, and he lived very cheaply. He has gone to Harvard now; I wanted him to be near me, but I’m afraid it isn’t very good for him there. However, there are temptations everywhere for a boy, especially if he has money.”
Her pose had vanished; there was a pucker of anxiety between her brows. Were all brothers a trouble? I wondered, thinking of Dave, certainly Cyrus never had been.
It was for Dave that Estelle wanted the money. I was sure that the loan had not yet been paid, and probably the dishonorable fellow who had betrayed him to the college authorities was pressing him for the money. He was as yet only an apprentice in the shipyard, and received little or no wages. Cyrus and Uncle Horace treated him exactly like any other apprentice, somewhat to my disgust, as well as Estelle’s.
“You never saw me behave like this before—not in all my life, did you?” asked Estelle, suddenly sitting upright, and turning up her disheveled locks. “It was the unexpected that overcame me. Perhaps it would have been better if I had listened to you, for you never believed in me, either of you.”