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On the Deux-Frères-Chambasse
15

Agatha was thinking, between her small remarks: “Extraordinary child! And his people must be gentlefolk, by his voice. What a shocking father!—and the mother is dead. It is dreadful to think of his growing up without religion of education among all those rough sailors. (I wonder if he is a Roman Catholic? I must ask him—but not now. He’s a curious child—somehow you can’t ask him too many questions.) I am sure papa won’t object to my having him here—I really felt I must do something for him—it was my plain duty. . . . I hope he will be allowed to come at once. He’s terribly old for his age, but a few months of home life will change that. How mamma would have loved mothering him!”

The sun had set by the time they reached the town, and Tony’s heart seemed to sink with it, weighted with unrest and change, and some dread.

He said a brief good-bye to Agatha and dived towards the wharves to settle his fate, hurrying head down like a small charging bull, with his hands tight clenched at his side. He did not dare tell himself how nervous he felt.

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