As if I wanted to paint his children! Besides, it was a mere excuse--to save the money.' 'I don't think so,' murmured Phoebe.

'And oh, I had counted on that five pounds!' 'What does five pounds matter, compared to speaking to one's mind ?' said Fenwick, roughly.
There was a silence.

Fenwick, looking at the two women, felt them unsympathetic, and abruptly changed the subject.
'I wish you'd give us some music, Phoebe.' Phoebe rose obediently.

He opened the little pianette for her, and lit the candles.
She played some Irish and Scotch airs, in poor settings, and with much stumbling.

After a little, Fenwick listened restlessly, his brow frowning, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair.