have told her in this way, before other people, even if it be true," said Conway.
"Leave me to be my own judge of what I ought to do, if you please, sir. If she had any feeling at all, what I told her yesterday would have kept her from all this. But some people have no feeling, and will go on being tomfools though the house is on fire." As these words were spoken, Mrs. Broughton fainted more persistently than ever,—so that Dalrymple was convinced that whether she felt or not, at any rate she heard. He had now dragged her across the room, and laid her upon the sofa, and Clara had come to her assistance. "I daresay you think me very hard because I speak plainly, but there are things much harder than plain speaking. How much do you expect to be paid, sir, for this picture of my girl?"
"I do not expect to be paid for it at all," said Dalrymple."
"And who is it to belong to?"
"It belongs to me at present."
"Then, sir, it mustn't belong to you any longer. It won't do for you to have a picture of my girl to hang up in your painting-room for all your friends to come and make their jokes about, nor yet to make a show of it in any of your exhibitions. My daughter has been a fool, and I can't help it. If you'll tell me what's the cost, I'll pay you; then I'll have the picture home, and I'll treat it as it deserves."
Dalrymple thought for a moment about his picture and about Mrs. Van Siever. What had he better do? He wanted to behave well, and he felt that the old woman had something of justice on her side. "Madam," he said, "I will not sell this picture; but it shall be destroyed, if you wish it."
"I certainly do wish it, but I won't trust to you. If it's not sent to my house at once you'll hear from me through my lawyers."
Then Dalrymple deliberately opened his penknife and slit the canvas across, through the middle of the picture each way. Clara, as she saw him do it, felt that in truth she loved him. "There, Mrs. Van Siever," he said; "now you can take the bits home with you in your basket if you wish it." At this moment, as the rent canvas fell and fluttered upon the stretcher, there came a loud voice of lamentation from the sofa, a groan of despair and a shriek of wrath. "Very fine indeed," said Mrs. Van Siever. "When ladies faint they always ought to have their eyes about them. I see that Mrs. Broughton understands that."
"Take her away, Conway—for God's sake take her away," said Mrs. Broughton.
