Olive
did hers long ago."
"Where is Olive?" asked Mrs. Denys.
"She's reading a story-book downstairs. We may always read when we've
finished our lessons." Again came that short, unconscious sigh. Jeanie
went to the table and sat down. "Mother is rather upset to-night," she
said, as she turned the leaves of her book. "Ronald and Julian have been
smoking, and she is so afraid that Father will find out. I hope he
won't--for her sake. But if they don't eat any supper, he is sure to
notice. He flogged Julian two nights running the last time because he
told a lie about it."
A quick remark rose to her listener's lips, but it was suppressed
unuttered. Mrs. Denys began to stitch very rapidly with her face bent
over her work. It was a very charming face, with level grey eyes, wide
apart, and a mouth of great sweetness. There was a fugitive dimple on one
side of it that gave her a girlish appearance when she smiled. But she
was not a girl. There was about her an air of quiet confidence as of one
who knew something of the world and its ways. She was young still, and it
was yet in her to be ardent; but she had none of the giddy restlessness
of youth. Avery Denys was a woman who had left her girlhood wholly behind
her. Her enthusiasms and her impulses were kindled at a steadier flame
than the flickering torch of youth.
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