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Updated: July 25, 2025
"Oh, mercy," ejaculated Mrs. Heeny; and as if to cut the conversation short she stooped over, creaking like a ship, and thrust her plump strong hand into the bag. "Here, now, just you look at these clippings I guess you'll find a lot in them about your Ma. Where do they come from? Why, out of the papers, of course," she added, in response to Paul's enquiry.
Spragg had no ambition for herself she seemed to have transferred her whole personality to her child but she was passionately resolved that Undine should have what she wanted, and she sometimes fancied that Mrs. Heeny, who crossed those sacred thresholds so familiarly, might some day gain admission for Undine.
I guess you can put your ring on again," she said with a laugh of jovial significance; and Undine, echoing the laugh in a murmur of complacency, slipped on the fourth finger of her recovered hand a band of sapphires in an intricate setting. Mrs. Heeny took up the hand again.
Heeny had said, discerning the reluctance under his civil greeting, "I guess you're as strange here as I am, and we're both pretty strange to each other. You just go and look round, and see what a lovely home your Ma's got to live in; and when you get tired of that, come up here to me and I'll give you a look at my clippings."
Spragg began reproachfully; but Mrs. Heeny, heedless of their bickerings, was pursuing her own train of thought. "What Popple? Claud Walsingham Popple the portrait painter?" "Yes I suppose so. He said he'd like to paint me. Mabel Lipscomb introduced him. I don't care if I never see him again," the girl said, bathed in angry pink. "Do you know him, Mrs. Heeny?" Mrs. Spragg enquired.
Undine, laughing confidently, took up a hand-glass and scrutinized the small brown mole above the curve of her upper lip. "I guess she'll know how to talk to him," Mrs. Spragg averred with a kind of quavering triumph. "She'll know how to LOOK at him, anyhow," said Mrs. Heeny; and Undine smiled at her own image. "I hope he won't think I'm too awful!" Mrs. Heeny laughed.
A blush rose to the face in the mirror, spreading from chin to brow, and running rosily over the white shoulders from which their covering had slipped down. "My! If he could see you now!" Mrs. Heeny jested. Mrs. Spragg, rising noiselessly, glided across the room and became lost in a minute examination of the dress laid out on the bed. With a supple twist Undine slipped from Mrs. Heeny's hold.
Heeny, swooping down on her bag, drew from it a handful of newspaper cuttings, which she spread on her ample lap and proceeded to sort with a moistened forefinger. "Here," she said, holding one of the slips at arm's length; and throwing back her head she read, in a slow unpunctuated chant: "Mrs.
Heeny should be sent to "bring him round." "I wouldn't ask them a favour for the world they're just waiting for a chance to be hateful to me," she scornfully declared; but it pained her that her boy, should be so near, yet inaccessible, and for the first time she was visited by unwonted questionings as to her share in the misfortunes that had befallen her.
Her shoulders shone through transparencies of lace and muslin which slipped back as she lifted her arms to draw the tortoise-shell pins from her hair. "Of course you've got to do it I want to look perfectly lovely!" "Well I dunno's my hand's in nowadays," said Mrs. Heeny in a tone that belied the doubt she cast on her own ability. "Oh, you're an ARTIST, Mrs.
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