"My allowance is just half what it used to be, and yet I
have to pay all my own expenses. As for clothes, I never was so shabby in
my life. But I can stand that. It's grandmother's silence that I resent.
How can she pretend to care for me when she ignores my letters and treats
me with perfect indifference?"
Hurt pride quivered through the anger in her voice, and she looked at
Quin appealingly. Stung by his silence, she burst out afresh:
"Doesn't she ever ask about me? Has she let me go for good and all?"
"Wasn't that what you wanted?"
"You _know_ it wasn't! I did everything to get her consent. I'd--I'd give
anything now if she would look at things differently. Do you think, when
she finds out that I am actually on the stage, that she will ever forgive
me--that she will ever want me to come home again?"
That was the moment when Quin should have delivered Madam's ultimatum;
but, before he had the chance, a key was turned in the lock, and the next
instant Claude Martel's effulgent presence filled the room.
For a moment he stood poised lightly, consciously, his cane and gloves in
one hand, and his soft felt hat turned gracefully across the other.
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