"By'n by, you'll be too fine for the rest of us," broke in big Danny
upon their chatter, the usual discordant tone in his voice.
"Well, I guess it won't be your fault if I am," Beryl flared.
"Everything that I've gotten I've gotten for myself and I don't know of
anyone ever trying to help me."
Like a flash the little mother was between the two, a soothing hand on
the father's shoulder.
"Now don't you two be a-spoiling this night," she laughed a bit
hysterically. "Of course our girl's going to be too fine for anyone, but
it's always a-loving she'll be to her Dad and her Mommy." She declared
it with an ardent triumph. This mother who had once dreamed things for
herself dreamed them now for her boy and girl. From Beryl's infancy she
had taught her to want "fine things." And Beryl wanted them with all
her heart and, with youth's selfishness, wanted them for herself, alone.
After her father's taunt, Beryl, with sullen resentment, locked her lips
on her other pleasant experiences. Nor would she tell now how Robin had
written to her guardian to send down a real violin for her to practice
upon, or what fun it was to study with Mr.
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