“Why do you not ask Mr. Hope yourself?” said Lucy who was too impatient to bear with the old creature's maunderings. “If you gave him the things he will no doubt return them.”
“If they aren't spiled with paint,” wailed Widow Anne. “He told my Sid as he wanted them for a model to wear while being painted. Sid asked me, and I gave 'em to Sid, and Sid, he passed 'em along to your good gentleman. There was a skirt, as good as new, and a body of the dress trimmest beautiful, and a tartan shawl as I got from my mother. But no,” the old woman corrected herself, “it was a dark shawl with red spots and—”
“Ask Mr. Hope, ask Mr. Hope,” cried Miss Kendal impatiently. “I know nothing about the things,” and she tore her dress from Widow Anne's detaining hand to hurry home. Mrs. Bolton wailed aloud at this desertion, and took her way to Hope's lodgings, where she declared her determination to remain until the artist restored her apparel.
Lucy for the moment thought little of this interview; but on reflection she thought it strange that Archie