"
"Mr. Greenleaf earns a good income, doesn't he?"
"He hasn't sold a picture, except to friends whom I persuaded to buy."
"You have friends and influence still?"
"I don't know; a man's friends don't last long after his money is gone.
Besides, nobody wants to buy now. Raphael himself couldn't sell a
picture here till times improve. A painter is a pretty butterfly for
fine weather; what is he to do with his flimsy wings in such a hurricane
as this?"
"I think I understand you, Brother Henry. You begin afar off; but I
know what you are coming to. You want to bring up that odious Denims
again,--a man whom I hate, and whom you yourself would show out of
doors, like a vagrant, if it were not for his money!"
The effort exhausted her, and she breathed painfully.
"You think yourself quick. I haven't mentioned Denims. In fact, you have
treated him in such a way that I am quite sure he would never trouble
himself to be even civil to you again."
"I am glad of it,--the fool!"
"Sister Marcia, I have borne much from your turbulent temper. You are a
spoiled child.
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