probably.

"Call me mamma now, dearest," she said, at last; "and let the name be as
a new compact between us. Now let Evelyn come to me, my love, she, too,
is my daughter; and go with Mrs. Austin."

I did as she directed, grasping Mrs. Austin's hand tightly as we walked
home, and proceeding at so brisk a pace that she was often obliged to
check me.

"Poor child, why should you rejoice so?" she said, mournfully. "Don't
you know you have lost your father from this hour? Do you suppose he
will ever love you as well again--you or Evelyn? Poor, ignorant,
sacrificed babes in the woods!"

"I don't care," I said. "I have got my new mamma to love me, even if he
does not. 'Mamma--mamma Constance!' how pretty that sounds. Oh, that is
what I shall always call her from this time--'Constance,' as usual, you
know, with 'mamma' before it." And I kept repeating "mamma Constance,"
childishly.

"Foolish thing," she rejoined. "I wish you had your sister Evelyn's
consideration; but at any rate," she murmured, "the money will be all
yours. He cannot alienate that; yours by marriage contract, not even to
divide with Evelyn, and" (elevating her voice) "that you will surely do
hereafter, will you not, Miriam?"

"I don't know," I replied; "not unless she is good to me and stops
calling me 'little Jew,' and other mean, disagreeable names. But I
always thought Evelyn was the rich one until now. She has so many fine