“Aristides gave it to me.”
“Where did he get it?”
“Don’t know. He had the book in his pocket when I told him I was going to write to you, and he tore the leaf out. There now—don’t bother me any more.” M’liss had turned her face away, and the black hair had hid her downcast eyes.
Something in her gesture and expression reminded him of her father. Something, and more that was characteristic to her at such moments, made him fancy another resemblance, and caused him to ask impulsively, and less cautiously than was his wont:—
“Do you remember your mother, M’liss?”
“No.”
“Did you never see her?”
“No—didn’t I tell you not to bother, and you’re a-goin’ and doin’ it,” said M’liss savagely.
The master was silent a moment. “Did you ever think you would like to have a mother, M’liss?” he asked again.
“No-o-o-o!”