It was very unusual--and very beautiful." "When we were together, before I went away, I was a mere lad," continued the artist.

"I knew in a general way that father had been a successful lawyer, and quite prominent in politics; and--because there was no change in our manner of living after his death, and there seemed to be always money for whatever we wanted, I suppose--I assumed, thoughtlessly, that there would always be plenty.

During the years while I was at school, there was never, in any way, the slightest hint in mother's letters that would lead me to question the abundance of her resources.

When they called me home,--" his voice broke, "-- I found my mother dying--almost in poverty--our home stripped of the art treasures she loved--her own room, even, empty of everything save the barest necessities." In bitter sorrow and shame, the young man buried his face in his hands.
The novelist, his gaunt features twitching with the emotion that even his long schooling in the tragedies of life could not suppress, waited silently.
When the artist had regained, in a measure, his self-control, he continued,--and every word came from him in shame and humiliation,--"Before she died, she told me about--my father.

In the settlement of his affairs, at the time of his death, it appeared that he had taken advantage of the confidence of certain clients and had betrayed his trust; appropriating large sums to his own interests.