"She has no
intellect left except her ideas about George," she told
herself, "and if he turns his back on her for life in
this way---- She never was too sane!" shaking her head
ominously.
She thought it best to talk frankly of the matter to
little Lucy Dunbar, and was relieved to find her ready to
joke and laugh at it. "No bruise in that tender heart!"
thought Clara, who was anxious as a mother for her girls.
"We all worshipped Mr. George," said Lucy saucily. "I,
most of all. He is so cold, so exalted and ah--h, so
good-looking! Like a Greek god. But he never gave
a look to poor little me! The fraulein came on deck as
soon as we all went down with sea-sickness, and bewitched
him with her eyes. It must have been her eyes; they are
yellow--witch's eyes. Or maybe that cheap smell about
her is a love-philter! Or was it just soul calling to
soul? I should have said the fraulein had the soul of a
milliner. She put great ideas into the hat that she
altered for me," Lucy added, with an unsteady laugh.
"I care nothing for them or their souls," said Miss Vance
crossly. "It is his mother that I think of."
"But really," said Lucy, "mademoiselle is quite raw
material. No ideas--no manners whatever. Mrs. Waldeaux
may mould her into something good and fine."
"She will not try. She will never accept that creature
as a daughter."
"She seems to me to be indifferent," said Lucy. "She
does not see how terrible it is. She was leaning over
the bulwark just now, laughing at the queer gossoons
selling their shillalahs.
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