brave, strong heart, and are not discouraged. Nobody can do anything if they lose heart.”
“But to be always, always working, and to have no success. O Madge, it is so hard and bitter!”
“No success! Why, Raymond, if you’d only heard how the errand-boys praised the way you had done the workman’s basket of tools in the Welcome. It was a success in itself.”
In spite of himself Raymond laughed, and Madge was satisfied. She went on brightly. “Some day I shall be so proud to be the sister of Mr. Raymond Leicester, the great painter, whose picture will be one of the gems in the Royal Academy some year or other; and we shall glory in you.”
“Not he–never; he would never care.”
“Oh, he would–he would; and if he didn’t, you would be mine–all mine,” she added softly, as she laid her hand on his arm.
Raymond looked up suddenly. “Madge, you are a witch, I think. I wonder what those men do who have no sisters–poor fellows;” and then he kissed her.
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