Part 24 (1/2)

elise gave a quick look of interrogation. The look showed sincerity. Her voice softened.

”You didn't hurt me; you made me mad. I can help myself. They can't.”

Miss Hartwell had left her sketch-book unclosed. An errant breath of wind was fluttering the pages.

”What is that?” elise asked. ”Another kind of book to make you tear up flowers?” Her voice was hard again.

Miss Hartwell took up the open book.

”Perhaps you would like to see these. They may atone for my other wrong-doing.”

elise seated herself and received the sketches one by one as they were handed to her. Miss Hartwell had intended to make comments as necessity or opportunity seemed to demand; but elise forestalled her.

”This is beautiful; only----” She paused.

Miss Hartwell looked up.

”Only what?”

elise shook her head impatiently.

”You've put those horrid names on each one of them. They make me think of the ones you tore to pieces.”

Miss Hartwell stretched out her hand.

”Let me take them for a moment, please.”

elise half drew them away, looking sharply at Miss Hartwell. Then her face softened, and she placed the sketches in her hand. One by one the offending names were removed.

”I think that is better.”

elise watched curiously, and her expression did not change with the reception of the sketches.

”Don't you ever get mad?” she asked.

”Sometimes.”

”That would have made me awfully mad.”

”But I think you were quite right. The names are not beautiful. The flowers are.”

”That wouldn't make any difference with me. I'd get mad before I thought, and then I'd stick to it anyway.”

”That is not right.”

elise looked somewhat rebuked, but more puzzled.

”How old are you?” she asked.

This was too much. Miss Hartwell could not conceal her astonishment. She recovered quickly and answered, with a smile: