flame, terrifying tongues of flame that
reached almost to the sky. They lived very quietly and saw no one. Her
father, reserved and uncommunicative, discouraged callers, and her
mother, a French woman, not understanding the language very well, made
no acquaintances among her neighbors. Then she went to the convent
school where she was educated, and after that they moved to Paris and
made a long stay with relatives of her mother. On the return to America
they lived quietly for a time in New York, seeing absolutely no one, and
it was at this period that she became seriously interested in Settlement
work.

She wondered why her father had always insisted on keeping his marriage
secret. It was not because he was ashamed of her mother, who came of a
distinguished family. He must have been fond of her in his
undemonstrative way, for he cried bitterly when she died. For some time
he seemed to find comfort in his daughter's companionship, but little by
little the man's eccentricities estranged them. Owing to his frequent
absences she saw less and less of him until, at last, she asked to be
allowed to return to Paris to study art. He readily acquiesced and
provided her with a comfortable allowance. To their friend, Leon Ricaby,
to whom he handed a long envelope, he had said in her hearing: "This,
Mr. Ricaby, contains my last will. I have named you as executor. I have
left everything to Paula. If anything happens to me, look after my
little girl. Another will, executed years ago, in my brother's favor, is
in existence. For reasons of my own I do not wish to destroy that will.
It would lead to explanations and unpleasantness I would rather avoid.
But this new will post-dates the old one. This is the only valid will."
That was only six months ago, and now he, too, was gone.

Thus absorbed in these reflections, Paula did not notice how dangerously
her stool tilted on the treacherous, highly polished parquet floor.
There was a little spot high up on the canvas which she wanted to
reach, so, slightly elevating herself, she leaned forward, palette in
one hand, brush extended in the other. Suddenly the stool slipped
backwards and she was thrown heavily against the easel which went
crashing to the ground, the picture, palette, paint box, and brushes
being hurled in all directions. It was all over before she had time to
cry out, and the next instant she found herself sitting unceremoniously
on the floor in the midst of all the debris.