“Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. I have given up painting. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. All her life Martha had been there.
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