looking out of the window with his hands behind him. At their entrance he did not at once turn round. Mr. Da Souza coughed apologetically.
“Here we are, my friend,” he remarked. “The ladies are anxious to wish you good morning.”
Trent faced them with a sudden gesture of impatience. He seemed on the point of an angry exclamation, when his eyes met Julie Da Souza's. He held his breath for a moment and was silent. Her face was scarlet with shame, and her lips were trembling. For her sake Trent restrained himself.
“Glad to see you back again, Julie,” he said, ignoring her mother's outstretched hand and beaming smile of welcome. “Going to be a hot day, I think. You must get out in the hay-field. Order what breakfast you please, Da Souza,” he continued on his way to the door; “you must be hungry—after such an early start!”
Mrs. Da Souza sat down heavily and rang the bell.
“He was a little cool,” she remarked, “but that was to be expected. Did you observe the notice he took of Julie? Dear child!”
Da Souza rubbed his hands and nodded meaningly. The girl, who, between the two, was miserable enough, sat down with a little sob. Her mother looked at her in amazement.
“My Julie,” she exclaimed, “my dear child! You see, Hiram, she is faint! She is overcome!”
The child, she was very little more, broke out at last in speech, passionately, yet with a miserable fore-knowledge of the ineffectiveness of anything she might say.
“It is horrible,” she cried, “it is maddening! Why do we do it? Are we paupers or adventurers? Oh! let me go away! I am ashamed to stay in this house!”
Her father, his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and his legs far apart, looked at her in blank and speechless amazement; her mother, with more consideration but equal lack of sympathy, patted her gently on the back of her hand.
“Silly Julie,” she murmured, “what is there that is horrible, little one?”
The dark eyes blazed with scorn, the delicately curved lips shook.
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