n they had been a long
time silent, and she caught her lip between her teeth, for her own
condemnation pressed upon her more heavily with each enlightening
consideration.

Dunham's feelings were inexpressible, and his one devout thanksgiving
was that Edna was ignorant of his own banality.

Suddenly she ran out of the room to the head of the stairs. "Miss
Lacey," she called, "will you bring Judge Trent up here?"

The request startled Miss Martha into a sudden panic. "Dear me, Calvin,
Edna wants us. I'm afraid Sylvia is ill. She looked it this noon. Oh, I
assure you she never would have stayed upstairs from laziness, never in
this world. She"--

But Judge Trent was already far in advance of the speaker, and Miss
Lacey tripped upstairs after him, briskly.

"Come here, both of you, and I will make you proud," said Edna as they
entered the room. "These sketches are your niece's work."

"Aren't they the queerest things you ever saw?" asked Miss Martha,
adjusting her eyeglasses the better to peer at the brown sheets. "But
there's the Ledges, and there's Beacon Island, and the West Shore, and
our own swimming pool from over on the Point, and"--

"Judge Trent, do you know about such work?" asked Edna. "Do you care
for this sort of thing?"

"Yes, in an ignorant sort of a way. Certainly I do."

"If you found Sylvia talented, you'd help her, I'm sure you would."

"Of course. Why? You appear excited."

Edna touched the lawyer's black sleeve as he stood in his customary
attitude, his hands behind his back. As she went on it was evident that
she fought with tears.

"Pardon me for asking if Sylvia has any money? Has any allowance been
made her?"

"Not by me, and it's not likely by Thinkright."

"It must be so! She can't have any money." The girl paused to swallow.
Judge Trent regarded her, the corners of his mouth drawn down, at a
loss to understand her manner, and ready to defy whatever accusation
she was about to bring against him.

Edna continued: "Sylvia went into the field, and spent hours selecting
the largest, darkest berries she could find. She came home and stewed
them into a substitute for paint. You remember, Miss Martha, the
evening you thought she was cooking. Then she found this rough manila
paper, and contrived a stump out of something. Think how she must have
longed to paint, how she longed for materials"--

"Why didn't you tell me?" demanded Judge Trent brusquely. "How was I to
know?"

"I didn't