“Madame Isabey, you mean, Hector,” said Mrs. Tremaine in mild reproof.
“An’ she th’o it outen de window. She ain’t got no fear ob de Lawd, her Gawd, an’ when I tole her that Paul de Porstle say you ain’t gwine th’o de chillen’s bread to de dogs, she tole me to shet my mouf—to shet my mouf.”
No one had ever yet been able to shut Hector’s mouth; and no one had ever seriously tried except Madame Isabey.
Angela, who sat by, took no part in the discussion. Suddenly she remembered the packet of gold eagles which she had received from Neville more than a month before. As soon as breakfast was over, she ran upstairs and got her rouleau of gold and, coming down, found Colonel and Mrs. Tremaine walking up and down the long portico toward the river. She went up to Mrs. Tremaine, and, holding out the little parcel, said to her in a trembling voice:
“I have some gold which Neville sent me; you’re welcome to all you want of it, Aunt Sophia.”
A deathlike silence followed. There was something astounding to Mrs. Tremaine that this child should have the strange species of independence which the possession of money gives, and then the thought flashed instantly through the mother’s mind that Angela by some secret means had lately heard from Neville and had not seen fit to mention it.
Mrs. Tremaine turned pale, and her eyes, fixed upon Angela, had in them an imploring expression.
Angela remained silent. The subtle changes made by her new status confused and embarrassed her. And then, still holding out the money, she said: “Here is the gold. I should like to keep half of it. I mean I shall keep half of it to go to Neville when he sends for me. The rest is yours.”
Mrs. Tremaine drew back icily. It was difficult for her to accept the money, and more difficult to refuse it. But something in her air and manner caused Angela suddenly to burst into a passion of tears. As she stood sobbing, Colonel Tremaine put his arm around her, and said kindly:
“My dear little—” but he did not say daughter, as he would have said a few months ago or even then except for Mrs. Tremaine. He felt instinctively that Mrs. Tremaine did not wish that word to be used. Angela was the daughter-in-law and not the daughter to her, and Mrs. Tremaine, the tenderest-hearted of women, looked with somber eyes upon Angela’s tear-stained face.