"At any rate," pursued Bergan, "this 'Sunshine' is just what I want to brighten my office. I was thinking, this very day, that something must be done to make it less dismal. I suppose it is for sale?"
Astra bent her head a little stiffly. She doubted the reality of this new-born desire for office decorations.
He took out his purse, and laid a folded bank-note on the table. He expected that she would not look at it, until after he had gone, but she immediately took it up, opened it, and tendered it back to him.
"It is too much," said she proudly. And her look added, "I am no beggar."
"Is it?" inquired Bergan, with apparent surprise. "I thought it agreed tolerably well with the prices that you used to mention as the least you would receive for your works, in the future."
"I have lived to grow wiser," replied Astra,
"It is all the same," rejoined Bergan composedly, "I was about to say that, as my mother has long been entreating me to send her some sort of a portrait, it occurs to me that I cannot do better than to get you to make a medallion or a bust of me, whichever you please. The balance of the note can go toward the first payment. We will arrange for the sittings, as soon as you are at leisure."
Astra's lip trembled. Put in this way, the note might be retained; and no one knew so well as herself what an amount of relief to her, and of comfort to her mother, it ensured. But her pride was very sore, nevertheless, and her face was little grateful, as she dropped the note on the table, somewhat as if it had burned her fingers.
Bergan hastened to change the subject. "I am sorry not to see your mother," he began; but Astra interrupted him.
"She would like to see you very much," said she, "if you don't mind coming to her room. It is several days since she has left it; though I really think that she is better to-day."