rl 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 that 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.

"I shall take myself away very shortly," said Mrs. Van Siever, "so
you needn't trouble Mr. Conway about that. Not but that I thought the
gentleman's name was Mr. something else."

"My name is Conway Dalrymple," said the artist.

"Then I suppose you must be her brother, or her cousin, or something
of that sort?" said Mrs. Van Siever.

"Take her away," screamed Mrs. Dobbs Broughton.

"Wait a moment, madam. As you've chopped up your handiwork there, Mr
Conway Dalrymple, and as I suppose my daughter has been more to blame
than anybody else--"

"She has not been to blame at all," said Dalrymple.

"That's my affair and not yours," said Mrs. Van Siever, very sharply.
"But as you've been at all this trouble, and have now chopped it up,
I don't mind paying you for your time and paints; only I shall be
glad to know how much it will come to?"

"There will be nothing to pay, Mrs. Van Siever."

"How long has he been at it, Clara?"

"Mamma, indeed you had better not say anything about paying him."

"I shall