was angry with you before Mr. Torpenhow went away?'
'You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right to be.'
'Then I—but aren't you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn't tell you?'
'Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about when you might just as well be giving me another kiss.'
He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, that kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more you want. Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, 'I was so angry I rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren't angry, are you?'
'What? Say that again.' The man's hand had closed on her wrist.
'I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,' faltered Bessie. 'I thought you'd only have to do it over again. You did do it over again, didn't you? Oh, let go of my wrist; you're hurting me.'
'Isn't there anything left of the thing?'
'N'nothing that looks like anything. I'm sorry—I didn't know you'd take on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. You aren't going to hit me?'
