“I don’t think, to tell the truth,” I said, “that any one else will hang on his words; you will have him all to yourself.”
“Oh,” said Augusta, “if you only wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Wouldn’t try to deprecate him. It seems wicked—it seems as though God would punish you.”
“Why, what do you mean?” I said.
“You ought to be so happy and so pleased,” said Augusta. “And you have got such a beautiful, commonplace step-mother. I admit that she is commonplace, but I never met so charming a woman. If only my mother were like her!”
“Your mother is excellent,” I said—“quite as nice as my step-mother; and then she is your own. I think it is very wicked of you to run down your mother. If you hadn’t a mother you’d know the difference.”
“But you have.”
“I haven’t. How dare you!”
“Dumps, I can’t help thinking that you—but oh, perhaps you’d rather not share your room with me?”