“You really believe that?” she said eagerly.
“I do indeed. I’ve had proof of it. Remember, even bad men are generally good to their own children!”
The stranger sighed.
“Some are, I know. But if you have received as much ill treatment from a man as I have from my husband, you find it difficult to believe any good of him. Besides——” A new thought seemed to fill her with new horror, and again she looked cautiously round, and lowered her voice still further. “There’s his sister. Even if he were to wish to keep his daughters from harm, his sister is such a wicked woman that, if he were to put them into her care, they would be worse off than ever.”
“His sister! Has he a sister?”
“A half-sister. A woman without heart or conscience, and with no passion but for money, and no affection for any one but her half-brother. She hated me because I was English, and so were all my ways and all my tastes.”
“Wasn’t she English then?”
“No, nor he either. They are both of mixed nationality, and speak three or four languages equally well. And each is as clever and as wicked as the other. Do you mean to say you have never met her?”
And again both her look and tone grew incredulous.
“Never to my knowledge,” said Audrey. “Perhaps she is dead.”