s," said Miss Vance crossly. "It
is his mother that I think of."

"But really," said Lucy, "mademoiselle is quite raw material. No
ideas--no manners whatever. Mrs. Waldeaux may mould her into something
good and fine."

"She will not try. She will never accept that creature as a daughter."

"She seems to me to be indifferent," said Lucy. "She does not see how
terrible it is. She was leaning over the bulwark just now, laughing at
the queer gossoons selling their shillalahs."

"Oh, she will laugh at Death himself when he comes to fetch her, and
see something 'queer'in him," said Clara.

But her little confidence with Lucy had relieved her. The child cared
nothing for George, that was plain.

Mademoiselle, watching Mrs. Waldeaux closely all day, was not deceived
by her laugh. "The old lady, your mother," she said to George, "is
what you men call 'game.' She has blood and breeding. More than you,
monsieur. That keeps her up. I did not count on that," said the young
woman thoughtfully.

George took off his glasses and rubbed them nervously as he talked. "I
don't understand my mother at all! She has always been very
considerate and kind. I never thought that she would receive my wife,
when I brought her to her, with calm civility. Not a kiss nor a
blessing!"

"A kiss? A blessing for me?" Lisa laughed and nodded meaningly to the
sea and world at large. "She could hardly have blessed a woman lolling
full length in her chair," she thought. "It IS her chair. And I have
unseated her for life curling herself up in the rugs."

Yet she had a twinge of pity for the old lady. Even the wild boar has
its affections and moments of gentleness. A week ago Lisa could have
trampled the life out of this woman who had slandered her dead mother,
with the fury of any wild beast. For she was Pauline Felix's daughter.
It was her mother's name that Mrs. Waldeaux had said could not be
spoken by any decent woman. Lisa had been but a child, but she had
held her mother's head close to her stout little heart as she lay
dying--that awful mysterious death of which the young man had tried to
make a telling story. The girl crossed herself now and closed her
tired eyes as she thought of it. She had been a wicked child and a
wicked woman, but she knew certainly that the Virgin and her Son had
come near to her that day, and had helped her.

George, who was poring fondly on her face, exclaimed: "Your eyes are
wet. You are