When the doctor came in—he had just finished his breakfast—O'Higgins rose and presented his card. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. "I have done nothing—nothing to what I could do—to what I will do!" "You've done quite enough," rejoined Austin; "more than you'll ever do again. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain.
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