The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. 8. “How is that carmine working?” he asked, with a forced interest. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame.
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