It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. "Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily. The necessity of defending herself and assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in sinister possibilities. Sudden indignation boiled up in him. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. “Great!” Cathy squealed. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure.
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