I looked at him with very keen interest. "Yes. I do not remember anybody else. I don't remember my own mother." "Oh, well, that is different." "I do not think it is so different, for in some ways it is harder for me than for you." "Isn't she nice. Von?" I asked. "She means to be," he said; "but she is severe. She doesn't love me as English school because I am not wanted at home." "Poor Von!" I said. "And have you ever been rude to her?" "Oh no," he answered; "I couldn't be that--my father wouldn't allow it." He was silent for a bit, and so was I silent. "What is she like, Von?" I asked. "She is what you English would call plain. She is very stout, with a good figure, a high colour, and black eyes, only they're rather small. She is an excellent housewife, and makes good dinners, and sees to the house and the linen and the servants. My father thinks a great deal of her." "And you have brothers and sisters--half brothers and sisters?" I said. "Oh yes; a great many. My step-mother loves them best, of course, but that cannot be wondered at." "No," I answered, "And, Von Marlo," I continued, "what do you call her?" "Mamma," he replied. "How can you?" "I couldn't say anything else. I have known her since I was a tiny boy." "With you it is different--it is truly," I repeated. "I am never going to call my step-mother mamma or mother, nor anything which would give her the place of my own mother." "I do not believe a name matters," said Von Marlo; "but you ought to be good to her, for she is wonderfully good to you." We finished our walk. I liked him and yet I did not like him. I felt annoyed with the boys. I saw during dinner that they were watching me when I spoke to my step-mother. Alex would raise his head and glance in her direction, and once when I forgot to reply to her Charley gave me a kick under the table. As to Von Marlo, he seemed to have done his part when he had that walk with me, for he did not take much notice of me, although I was certain he was listening. Now, this was the sort of thing to fret a girl. How could I be good when I was certain that I was surrounded by spies? I thought my father's abstracted manner quite refreshing beside the intent and watchful ways of the three boys. And as to Augusta, I almost learned to love her. She saw nothing wrong in my step-mother for the very reason that she did not see her at all. Whenever she raised her eyes, those deep-set dark eyes of hers would fly to the Professor. When he spoke she bent eagerly forward. Once he began one of his endless dissertations; the boys were talking about something else. Augusta said "Hush!" in a most peremptory manner, and my father stopped. "Thank you," he said, and he gave her a gracious bow. I really thought for a moment I was at school, and that one of the prefects was calling the class to order. "Thank you, Miss--" "Augusta Moore is my name." She uttered it quickly, and with a sort of sob in her voice.