"That is so, Lizzie. It was hard on you to be so poor; but you were not
so very young. You must have been about the age your daughter is now,
and I fancy you would not excuse much in her because of her youth. You
were two years older than I was in those days."

"Brute!"

"Mind you, I said 'in those days.' I do not mean you are still two years
older than I am."

Molly was sorry that Mr. Kinsella was pushing the poor lady so far. She
made a quick calculation from the evidence in hand and realized that
Mrs. Huntington must be about forty-nine. "Almost as old as Mother! And
just look at her hair and clothes! She looks much younger, and I know it
is hard on her to give up her youth. I do wish Mr. Kinsella had not said
that to her about being two years older than he is! It was not very
kind, even if she did jilt him. It seems a small revenge to me. I wish I
could have made my presence known and then I should not have heard Mr.
Kinsella belittle himself, which I certainly think he did."

Poor Mrs. Huntington swallowed her resentment as best she could and
continued the conversation: "There is one thing I should like to ask of
you as a favor, Tom, and that is: please do not tell Elise that her
father and I ever studied art. Not that I ever studied very hard, but
George was certainly much interested and it took a deal of managing to
persuade him to give it up and go into politics. You see, his uncle's
influence was still hot and there were many plums waiting for him. I was
too ignorant in those days to know that it did not necessarily follow
that political jobs brought social success.

"George was very successful and doubled his inheritance, but we had no
position at all. He changed a great deal. You would hardly have known
him in his last years. You remember how gay and light-hearted and
good-tempered he always was. Well, he lost it all and became morose and
bitter. Elise was the only person who had any influence on him at all.
We had to live in Brooklyn and how I did hate it!"

"How long has George been dead?"

"Oh, ten years or so. Elise was a mere child and George never spoke to
her of having wished to become an artist. It seemed best to me for her
to live in ignorance of the fact as she is already ridiculously fond of
trying to paint; and if she knew there were any hereditary reasons for
it, there is no telling what stand she would take. I hate the Bohemian
life that artists lead, and now that I have made so many sac