She was dressed very prettily for the opening night of the Drawing
Academy, wearing a delicate lace cap, and a new silk gown of
Valentine's choosing, made full enough to hide the emaciation of her
figure. Her husband's love, faithful through all affliction and change
to the girlish image of its first worship, still affectionately exacted
from her as much attention to the graces and luxuries of dress as she
might have bestowed on them of her own accord, in the best and gayest
days of youth and health. She had never looked happier and better in
any new gown than in that, which Mr. Blyth had insisted on giving her,
to commemorate the establishment of the domestic drawing school in her
own room.
Seven o'clock had been fixed as the hour at which the business of the
academy was to begin. Always punctual, wherever his professional
engagements were concerned, Valentine put the finishing touch to his
preparations as the clock struck; and perching himself gaily on a
corner of Mrs. Blyth's couch, surveyed his drawing-boards, his lamps,
and the plaster cast set up for his pupils to draw from, with bland
artistic triumph.
"Now, Lavvie," he said, "before Zack comes and confuses me, I'll just
check off all the drawing things one after another, to make sure that
nothing's left down stairs in the studio, which ought to be up here.
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