By bedtime, when June went to her attic, she had fully made up her mind that there must be no half measures now. She feared Uncle Si more than ever. There was something in that snuffle at the supper table, in that whine of outraged feeling, in that down-gazing eye which was far more formidable than any mere outburst of violence. Here was such a depth of hypocrisy that she had got to look out.
A light was showing under the studio door. June's knock met with a prompt invitation to enter. William was affectionately lingering over a few final touches, which should prove beyond a doubt the authenticity of this masterpiece.
"Have you got it really clean at last?" said June, trying to speak lightly, yet not succeeding. Emotional strain could not be so easily concealed; and—uncomfortable thought—her acting was not so finished as that of Uncle Si.
"Yes," said William, with a little thrill of rapture. "And how wonderful it is!"
June agreed. "Yes, wonderful!" Also with a little thrill of rapture, yet loathing herself because her tone was so vibrant—Uncle Si was not to have a walk over after all! "And now if you don't mind I'll put it in a place of safety."
He flashed one swift glance at her. "But, Miss June, isn't it quite safe here?"
