But now, in the first clean
uplift of his indignation, there was no self-congratulation at the
justification of his prophecies.
"I knew him for what he was. But that he could do this! He meant it
to hurt, too--that was like him all over. He had us in his mind. I
wish I'd never taken a penny from him. I'd rather have starved. Yes,
I would--far rather. I've been bad enough, but never a thing like
that--"
His sister said quietly:
"He's dead, Mathew. We can do nothing. Maggie, poor child . . ."
He approached for an instant more nearly than he had ever done. He
took her hand. There were tears in his eyes.
"It's good of you, Anne--to take her."
She withdrew her hand--very gently.
"I wish we'd taken her before. She must have had a terrible time
here. I'd never realised . . ."
He stood away from her near the window, feeling suddenly ashamed of
his impetuosity.
"She's a strange girl," Anne Cardinal went on. "She didn't seem to
feel this,--or anything. She hasn't, I think, much heart. I'm afraid
she may find it a little difficult with us--"
Mathew was uncomfortable now. His mood had changed; he was sullen.
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