“Perhaps,” he said, “the best thing I can do is to tell you about my own step-mother.”
“Have you one?” I asked.
I looked at him with very keen interest. “Yes. I do not remember anybody else. I don’t remember my own mother.”
“Oh, well, that is different.”
“I do not think it is so different, for in some ways it is harder for me than for you.”
“Isn’t she nice. Von?” I asked.
“She means to be,” he said; “but she is severe. She doesn’t love me as English school because I am not wanted at home.”
“Poor Von!” I said. “And have you ever been rude to her?”
“Oh no,” he answered; “I couldn’t be that—my father wouldn’t allow it.”
He was silent for a bit, and so was I silent. “What is she like, Von?” I asked.