her child?

She sat down cowering close in a corner of the seat, and in order to
conceal her tears turned her face to the cushions.

"Sit up," the lady interposed, "my beauty, sit up; don't you see how
your pretty marabouts are being crushed against the side of the
carriage? Nonsense, child, what can you be crying about?"

"My mother, oh, she made me think of my mother. I thought--it seemed
as if she must be there."

The lady frowned and looked toward the Judge with a pettish movement
of the head.

"Be quiet, child, I am your mother, now; remember that, I am your
mother."

Isabel looked up and gazed through her tears at the pale, characterless
face, bent in weak displeasure upon her.

"I am your mother," repeated the lady, in a tone that she intended to
be impressive, but it was only snappish; "your benefactress, your more
than mamma; forget that you ever had any but me."

"I can't, oh, dear, I never can," cried the child, bursting into a
passion of tears, and casting her face back upon the cushion.

Mrs. Farnham seized the child by the shoulder, and placed her, with a
slight shake, upright.