“Dear knows what is to become of us—­I am sure I don’t!  Mamma has a brother living in some out-of-the-way place up the country.  But he does not like me—­thinks some of his own children ought to have been adopted in my place.  Heaven knows I have made nothing by the operation but a great disappointment; he need not be uneasy about the amount I am to get.  But you see they don’t want me, having an old spite at me, and mamma dislikes to ask them to take me; besides, I would almost as soon be buried at once as go to that farm, or plantation, or whatever it is.  They have written to mamma to come, and she does not know what to do.”

“You are a good musician, are you not?”

“No, not particularly.  I never could endure to practice.”

“Don’t you draw and paint finely?  I have heard that you did.”

“Yes; but what good will it do me now, I should like to know?” She twirled her little plump, jeweled fingers indolently.

“It might do you a great deal of good, if you chose.  You might support yourself by giving lessons,” said Beulah decisively.

She drew up her shoulders, frowned, and pouted without making any answer.

“Claudy, you do not wish to be dependent on a man who dislikes you?”

“Not if I can help myself!”

“And you certainly do not wish to be the means of preventing Mrs. Grayson from having a comfortable home with her brother?”

Claudia burst into tears.  She did not love her mother, did not even respect her, she was so very weak and childish; yet the young orphan felt very desolate, and knew not what to do.  Beulah took her hand, and said kindly: 

“If you are willing to help yourself, dear Claudy, I will gladly do all I can to assist you.  I think I can secure you a situation as teacher of drawing, and, until you can make something at it, I will pay your board; and you shall stay with me, if you like.  You can think about it, and let me know as soon as you decide.”  Claudia thanked her cordially, and, returning home, Beulah immediately imparted the plan to her friends.  They thought it would scarcely succeed, Claudia had been so petted and spoiled.  Beulah sat gazing into the fire for a while; then, looking at the doctor, said abruptly: 

“There is that Graham money, sir, doing nobody any good.”

“That is just what I have been telling you for the last six years.  I have invested it carefully, until it has almost doubled itself.”

“It would make them very comfortable,” continued she thoughtfully.

“Make them very comfortable!” repeated the doctor, throwing his cigar into the grate, and turning suddenly toward her.

“Yes—­Claudia and Mrs. Grayson.”

“Beulah Benton! are you going insane, I should like to know?  Here you are, working hard every day of your life, and do you suppose I shall suffer you to give that legacy (nearly nine thousand dollars!) to support two broken-down fashionables in idleness?  Who ever heard of such a piece of business since the world began?  I will not consent to it!  I tell you now, the money shall not leave my hands for any such purpose.”