home. He and my mother got on best; oh! he was very good to her. But he
and I weren't brought up in the same way; you'd think he was already
under a rule. I don't--know--I suppose it's too high for me----"

She took up a handful of sand, and threw it, angrily, from her thin
fingers, hurrying on, however, as if the unburdenment, once begun, must
have its course.

"And it's hard to be always pulled up and set right by some one you've
nursed in his cradle. Oh! I don't mean he says anything; he and I never
had words in our lives. But it's the way he has of doing things--the
changes he makes. You feel how he disapproves of you; he doesn't like my
friends--our old friends; the house is like a desert since he came. And
the money he gives away! The priests just suck us dry--and he hasn't got
it to give. Oh! I know it's all very wicked of me; but when I think of
going back to him--just us two, you know, in that old house--and all the
trouble about money----"

Her voice failed her.

"Well, don't go back," said Fountain, laying his hand on her arm.

* * * * *

And twenty-four hours later he was still pleased with himself and her. No
doubt she was stupid, poor Augustina, and more ignorant than he had
supposed a human being could be. Her only education seemed to have been
supplied by two years at the "Couvent des Dames Anglaises" at St.-Omer,
and all that she had retained from it was a small stock of French idioms,
most of which she had forgotten how to use, though she did use them