The Evil Genius: A Domestic Story — page 49: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

88 THE EVIL GENIUS. have not spoken to me of your mother. Have you lost beth your parents?” ws oc i ve pe you were brought up by your mother?” ‘¢ Yes.” ‘You surely had some experience of kindness when you were a child ?” A third short answer would have been no very grateful re- turn for Mrs. Linley’s kindness. Sydney had no choice but to say plainly what her experience of her mother had been. ‘¢ Are there such women in the world?” Mrs. Linley exclaimed. ‘Where is your mother now ?” ‘*In America—I think.” ‘*'You think ?” ‘* My mother married again,” Sydney answered. ‘‘ She went to America with her husband and my little brother, six years ago.” ‘* And left you behind ?” yes. ‘* And she has never written to you ?” “* Never.” This time Mrs. Linley kent silence—not without an effort. Thinking of Sydney’s mother—and for one morbid moment seeing her own little darling in Sydney’s place—she was afraid to trust herself to speak, while the first impression was vividly present to her mind. ‘*T will only hope,” she replied after waiting a little, ‘ that some kind person pitied and helped you when you were deserted. Any change must have been for the better after that. Who took charge of you ?” ‘*My mother’s sister took charge of me; an elder sister, who kept a school. The time when I was most unhappy was the time when my aunt began to teach me. ‘If you don’t want to be beaten, and kept on bread and water,’ she said, ‘learn, you ugly little wretch, and be quick about it.’ ” ‘* Did she speak in that shameful way to the other girls ?” ‘*Oh,no! Iwas taken into her school for nothing, and, young as I was, I was expected to earn my food and shelter by being fit to teach the lowest class. The girls hated me. It was such a wretched life that I hardly like to speak of it now. I ran away, and was caught, and severely punished. When I grew older and wiser, I tried to find some other employment for my- self. The elder girls bought penny journals that published stories. They were left about now and then in the bedrooms. I read the stories when I had the chance. Even my ignorance discovered how feeble and foolish they were. They encouraged me to try if I could write a story myself; I couldn’t do worse, I might do better. I sent my manuscript to the editor. It was accepted and printed; but when I wrote and asked him if he would pay me something for it, he refused. Dozens of ladies, he said, wrote stories for him for nothing. It didn’t matter what the stories were. Anything would do for his readers, so long as the characters were lords and ladies, and there was 9 EOMMICclooolxs (FO)