Chapter 13 - Page 2

animal--I forget what it's
called--rhinoceros or something--at the Zoo that always reminds me of
him; he was so fearfully ponderous."

"Yes, that's all very well, Mary, but I fancy he's more than doubled the
fortune the gov'nor left him; so he has been ponderous to some purpose."

"Has he? how? But what do I care! Tom, you'll drive me crazy--why can't
you answer a simple question instead of going off into fifty other
things?"

"Well, Mary, if you'll kindly explain which of all the questions you have
asked me during the last minute or two, I'll try my best."

She frowned, made an impatient gesture, then laughed.

"Go upstairs and take off your things, Fan," she said. "Well?" she
continued, turning to her brother again, and finding his eyes fixed on
her face. "Do you tell me, Mary, that this white girl was born and bred
in a London slum, that her drunken mother was killed in a street fight,
and that she had no other life but that until you picked her up?"

"Yes."

"Good God!"

"Can't you say _Mon Dieu_, Tom? Your north-country expressions sound
rather shocking to London ears."

He rose, and coming to her side put his arm about her and kissed her
cheek very heartily.

"You were always a good old girl, Mary," he said, "and you are one still,
in spite of your vagaries."

"Thank you for your very equivocal compliments," she returned,
administering a slight box on his ear. "And now tell me what you think of
Fan?"

"I'll tell you presently, if you have not guessed already; but I'd like
to know first what you are going to do with her."

"I don't know; I can't bother about it just now. There's plenty of time
to think of that. Perhaps I'll make a lady's-maid of her, though it
doesn't seem quite the right thing to do."

"No, it doesn't. Don't go and spoil what you have done by any such folly
as that."

"Do you want me to make a lady of her--or what?"

"A lady? Well that is a difficult question to answer; but I have heard
that sometimes ladies, like poets, are born, not made. At all events, it
would not be right, I fancy, to keep the girl here. It might give rise to
disagreeable complications, as you always have a parcel of fellows
hanging about you."

Her face darkened with a frown.

"Now, Mary, don't get into a tantrum; it is best for us to be frank. And
I say frankly that you never did a better thing in your life than when
you took this girl into your house, if my judgment is worth anything. My
advice is, send her away for a time--for a year or