'
'Well,' I said, 'we aren't all heroes.'
'Oh, but that's different! The big, good Alfred!--did ever you hear such
tommy-rot in your life! Go on--what does she say at the end?'
'Er--We shall be pleased to hear of your life in England. We all send
many kind regards to your good parents. I wish you all happiness for your
future days. Your very affectionate and ever-grateful Elise.'
There was silence for a moment, during which Mrs. Goyte remained with her
head dropped, sinister and abstracted. Suddenly she lifted her face, and
her eyes flashed.
'Oh, but I call it beastly, I call it mean, to take a girl in like that.'
'Nay,' I said. 'Probably he hasn't taken her in at all. Do you think
those French girls are such poor innocent things? I guess she's a great
deal more downy than he.'
'Oh, he's one of the biggest fools that ever walked,' she cried.
'There you are!' said I.
'But it's his child right enough,' she said.
'I don't think so,' said I.
'I'm sure of it.'
'Oh, well,' I said, 'if you prefer to think that way.'
'What other reason has she for writing like that--'
I went out into the road and looked at the cattle.
'Who is this driving the cows?' I said. She too came out.
'It's the boy from the next farm,' she said.
'Oh, well,' said I, 'those Belgian girls! You never know where their
letters will end. And, after all, it's his affair--you needn't bother.
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