“Aunt Ellen,” Octavia said cheerfully, accurately throwing her black kid gloves at the important Persian cat on the windowsill. “I’m a beggar.” “You love to exaggerate so much, dear Octavia,” Aunt Ellen remarked softly, lowering the newspaper. “If you don’t have change for candy right now, look for my wallet in the desk drawer.” Octavia Beaupri took off her hat and, hugging her knees with her hands, sat down on a low bench next to her aunt’s chair. But even in this uncomfortable position, her slender figure, dressed in a fashionable mourning suit, did not lose its grace. Octavia tried in vain to impart the seriousness required by the circumstances to her young, lively face and sparkling, cheerful eyes...”