The Baker’s Daughter by D. E. Stevenson

It isn’t a good light, of course.”
    â€œWell!” said Mr. Bulloch. “Well, I never!”
    â€œYou like it?”
    â€œIt’s Sue,” declared her grandfather. “It’s—well, it’s just Sue. I can see her breathing, almost.”
    â€œYou think it good?” Darnay inquired casually, trying to hide the absurd pleasure he felt at the old man’s astonishment and delight.
    â€œMan, it’s wonderful!” cried Bulloch. “It’s the cleverest thing—I’ve seen her look like that a hundred times! I’ve seen her turn her head and raise her chin—she was affronted, eh?”
    Darnay laughed. “I’m afraid I annoyed her on purpose,” he admitted.
    â€œVairy reprehensible!” declared Mr. Bulloch with a twinkle in his eye. “But maybe the end justifies the means.”
    â€œHow d’you like the other one?” Darnay asked.
    â€œThe other? It’s a wondering look, Mr. Darnay. I’ve not seen her like that somehow—Sue’s too practical for dreams.”
    â€œI saw her like that.”
    â€œI’m not saying ye didn’t. I’m only saying it’s not the Sue I know,” began Mr. Bulloch, and then he paused suddenly. This was not the Sue he knew, but Mr. Darnay knew her like that—knew her with that wondering, rapt look transfiguring her small determined face . I’ll need to say it , he thought and added aloud and somewhat abruptly, “We’re wanting Sue home, Mr. Darnay.”
    â€œYou’re what?”
    â€œWe’re wanting her home,” repeated Mr. Bulloch and left it at that.
    For a moment, Darnay was silent, and then he said, “Well, of course—Miss Bun must do as she pleases. I mean—”
    â€œBut it’s not Sue,” explained her grandfather. “It’s ourselves—wanting her. She would not be pleased if she knew I had spoken about it.”
    â€œI think you must decide that yourselves,” Darnay said, and all at once he was a thousand miles away.
    Bulloch knew he had been put in his place, and perhaps he deserved it, for he had been admitted to Mr. Darnay’s friendship and had presumed upon it. He saw now that he should never have approached Darnay behind Sue’s back. He would have liked to apologize for his error of judgment, but it was not in his nature to apologize: he was too proud, too independent to own himself in the wrong.
    Bulloch stood there for a moment without speaking, and then he felt Darnay’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you like the portraits, Mr. Bulloch,” Darnay said in a friendly voice. “I’d like to give you that one if you will accept it.”
    â€œBut, Mr. Darnay—”
    â€œIt’s just a study, you see, and when I’ve finished my picture I shan’t want it, so if you’d care to have it—”
    â€œBut I couldn’t!” cried Bulloch in dismay. “I couldn’t take it—unless—unless ye’d let me pay for it. I couldn’t accept it from ye.”
    â€œAnd I couldn’t sell it,” declared Darnay, smiling and shaking his head. “It’s just a study, and I don’t in the least know what it’s worth—precious little really. Perhaps you’d allow me to give it to Miss Bun’s grandmother—how would that do?”
    It made very little difference, Bulloch thought. He was most uncomfortable, and his discomfort was augmented by the knowledge that Darnay had no intention of heaping coals of fire upon his head. Darnay was impulsive and his offer was spontaneous and genuinely kind, but it put Mr. Bulloch in a very awkward position—there was not a doubt of that. It complicated the whole situation, so that he could see no way of escape. To refuse the picture would be ungrateful and boorish, and yet, if they accepted it, how could they drag Sue away? He saw quite clearly that even if they