“She is what you English would call plain. She is very stout, with a good figure, a high colour, and black eyes, only they’re rather small. She is an excellent housewife, and makes good dinners, and sees to the house and the linen and the servants. My father thinks a great deal of her.”
“And you have brothers and sisters—half brothers and sisters?” I said.
“Oh yes; a great many. My step-mother loves them best, of course, but that cannot be wondered at.”
“No,” I answered, “And, Von Marlo,” I continued, “what do you call her?”
“Mamma,” he replied.
“How can you?”
“I couldn’t say anything else. I have known her since I was a tiny boy.”
“With you it is different—it is truly,” I repeated. “I am never going to call my step-mother mamma or mother, nor anything which would give her the place of my own mother.”
“I do not believe a name matters,” said Von Marlo; “but you ought to be good to her, for she is wonderfully good to you.”
We finished our walk. I liked him and yet I did not like him. I felt annoyed with the boys. I saw during dinner that they were watching me when I spoke to my step-mother. Alex would raise his head and glance in her direction, and once when I forgot to reply to her Charley gave me a kick under the table. As to Von Marlo, he seemed to have done his part when he had that walk with me, for he did not take much notice of me, although I was certain he was listening.