“Who told you to apply?” Her dark stare found me as she rose and walked to the fireplace, stood beneath her portrait. Now two of her gave me a brittle look.
“No one told me to apply. I did have the encouragement and support of Mrs. Taligrin,” I said, hoping the name of the headmistress of my New York school would carry some weight with my mother.
“She had no right to do so.” My mother's beauty vanished beneath her anger. How horrified she would be to know how much older it made her look.
“Mother, very few women are accepted to Rhode Island School of Design, only those who exhibit a true talent. It is that fine a college, that prestigious. And I am to be one of them.”
There came no praise, no gladness, nor pride. Only a warning.
“You waste your time with such matters. They will do you
