She moved lightly and silently, and looked
around her with a long-searching gaze, like that of a cat, and her
general appearance conveyed an idea of hunger and wicked ferocity.
Such was the outward appearance of the Tiger, and of a truth it
justified her name. "Why, where the dickens has he got to?" she said
aloud; "I wonder if he has given me the slip?"
"Here I am, Edith," said Mr. Quest quietly, as he stepped from the
balcony into the room.
"Oh, there you are, are you?" she said, "hiding away in the dark--just
like your nasty mean ways. Well, my long-lost one, so you have come
home at last, and brought the tin with you. Well, give us a kiss," and
she advanced on him with her long arms outspread.
Mr. Quest shivered visibly, and stretching out his hand, stopped her
from coming near him.
"No, thank you," he said; "I don't like paint."
The taunt stopped her, and for a moment an evil light shone in her
cold eyes.
"No wonder I have to paint," she said, "when I am so worn out with
poverty and hard work--not like the lovely Mrs. Q., who has nothing to
do all day except spend the money that I ought to have. I'll tell you
what it is, my fine fellow: you had better be careful, or I'll have
that pretty cuckoo out of her soft nest, and pluck her borrowed
feathers off her, like the monkey did to the parrot.
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