"I should be glad if you could talk of these things without flippancy, Laura. When I think how incapable I have been all these years, of understanding my dear brother——"
"No—you see you were living with papa," said Laura slowly.
She had left her stepmother's side, and was standing with her back to an old cabinet, resting her elbows upon it. Her brows were drawn together, and poor Mrs. Fountain, after a glance at her, looked still more miserable.
"Your poor papa!" she murmured with a gulp, and then, as though to propitiate Laura, she drew her breakfast back to her, and again tried to eat it. Small and slight as they both were, there was a very sharp contrast between her and her stepdaughter. Laura's features were all delicately clear, and nothing could have been more definite, more brilliant than the colour of the eyes and hair, or the whiteness—which was a beautiful and healthy whiteness—of her skin. Whereas everything about Mrs. Fountain was indeterminate; the features with their slight twist to the left; the complexion, once fair, and now reddened by years and ill-health; the hair, of a yellowish grey; the head and shoulders with their nervous infirmity. Only the eyes still possessed some purity of colour. Through all their timidity or wavering, they were still blue and sweet; perhaps they alone explained why a good many persons—including her stepdaughter—were fond of Augustina.
"What has Mrs. Denton been telling you about Mr. Helbeck?" Laura inquired, speaking with some abruptness, after a pause.
"You wouldn't have any sympathy, Laura," said Mrs. Fountain, in some agitation. "You see, you don't understand our Catholic principles. I wish you did!—oh! I wish you did! But you don't. And so perhaps I'd better not talk about it."
"It might interest me to know the facts," said Laura, in a little hard voice. "It seems to me that I'm likely to be Mr. Helbeck's guest for a good while."
"But you won't like it, Laura!" cried Mrs. Fountain—"and you'll misunderstand Alan. Your poor dear father always misunderstood him." (Laura made a restless movement.) "It is not because we think we can save our souls by such things—of course not!—that's the way you Protestants put it——"
"I'm not a Protestant!" said Laura hotly. Mrs. Fountain took no notice.
"But it's what the Church calls 'mortification,'" she said, hurrying on. "It's keeping the body under—as St. Paul did. That's what makes saints—and it does make saints—whatever people say. Your poor father didn't agree, of course. But he didn't know!—oh! dear, dear Stephen!—he didn't know. And Alan isn't cross, and it doesn't spoil his health—it doesn't, really."