Book Excerpt: resently she looked up and smiled, a moist and pathetic smile.'I'm sorry,' she said, 'for being so stupid. But he was so horrid and patronizing to you, I couldn't help scratching. I believe I'm the worst cat in London.''No, this is,' said Beverley, pointing to the canvas. 'At least, according to the late Sellers. But, I say, tell me, isn't the deceased a great artist, then? He came curveting in here with his chest out and started to slate my masterpiece, so I naturally said, "What-ho! 'Tis a genius!" Isn't he?''He can't sell his pictures anywhere. He lives on the little he can get from illustrating advertisements. And I t-taunt--''Please!' said Beverley, apprehensively.She recovered herself with a gulp.'I can't help it,' she said, miserably. 'I rubbed it in. Oh, it was hateful of me! But I was all on edge from teaching one of my awful pupils, and when he started to patronize you--'She blinked.'Poor devil!' said Beverley. 'I never guessedRead More