Why had Paul said nothing? He had not
even noticed that it was gone.
Paul stared, amazed and certainly--yes, beyond question--frightened.
"Grace--upon my word--I've been so busy since my return--"
"Is that also in the attic?" asked Grace.
"Yes, it is," said Maggie. "I'm so sorry. I never knew it was your
mother. It wasn't a very good painting I thought, so I took it down.
If I had known, of course, I never would have touched it. Oh Grace,
I AM so sorry."
"It's been there," said Grace, "for nearly twenty years. What I mean
to say is that it's always been there. Poor mother. Are there many
things in the attic, Maggie?"
At that moment there was a feeble scratching on the door. Paul,
evidently glad of anything that would relieve the situation, opened
the door.
"Why, it's Mitch!" cried Grace, forgetting for the moment her
mother. "Fancy! It's Mitch! Mitch, dear! Was she glad to see her old
friend back again? Was she? Darling! Fancy seeing her old friend
again? Was she wanting her back?"
Mitch stood shivering in the doorway, then, with her halting step,
the skin of her back wrinkled with anxiety, she crossed the room.
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