The story of that poor girl,
that clergyman's daughter, for instance--could anything have been more
insolent--more cruel? Doris burned to avenge her.
Suddenly--a great clatter and noise in the passage leading from the
small house behind to the studio and garden.
"Here she is!"
Uncle Charles sprang up, and reached the studio door just as a shower of
knocks descended upon it from outside. He opened it, and on the
threshold there stood two persons; a stout lady in white, surmounted by
a huge black hat with a hearse-like array of plumes; and, behind her, a
tall and willowy youth, with--so far as could be seen through the chinks
of the hat--a large nose, fair hair, pale blue eyes, and a singular
deficiency of chin. He carried in his arms a tiny black Spitz with a
pink ribbon round its neck.
The lady looked, frowning, into the interior of the studio. She held in
her hand a very large fan, with the handle of which she had been rapping
the door; and the black feathers with which she was canopied seemed to
be nodding in her eyes.
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