patient, bewildered, and slightly frightened face of the German woman. She took her in her arms and fondled her.
“That’s all right, honey,” she said, “you let us know if he doesn’t treat you right. We’ll fix him.”
“Steve’s a good boy,” said Margaret, “when he isn’t drinking. I’ve nothing to say against him when he’s sober.” She burst into tears.
“That awful, that awful curse,” said Eliza, shaking her head sadly, “the curse of licker. It’s been responsible for the ruination of more homes than anything else.”
“Well, she’ll never win any beauty prizes, that’s one thing sure,” said Helen privately to Eliza.
“I’ll vow!” said Eliza.
“What on earth did he mean by doing such a thing!” she continued. “She’s ten years older than he if she’s a day.”
“I think he’s done pretty well, if you ask me,” said Helen, annoyed. “Good heavens, mama! You talk as if he’s some sort of prize. Every one in town knows what Steve is.” She laughed ironically and angrily. “No, indeed! He got the best of the bargain. Margaret’s a decent girl.”
“Well,” said Eliza hopefully, “maybe he’s going to brace up now and make a new start. He’s promised that he’d try.”
“Well, I should hope so,” said Helen scathingly. “I should hope so. It’s about time.”
Her dislike for him was innate. She had placed him among the tribe of the Pentlands. But he was really more like Gant than any one else. He was like Gant in all his weakness, with none of his cleanliness, his lean fibre, his remorse. In her heart she knew this and it increased her dislike for him. She shared in the fierce antagonism Gant felt toward his son. But her feeling was broken, as was all her feeling, by moments of friendliness, charity, tolerance.
“What are you going to do, Steve?” she asked. “You’ve got a family now, you know.”
“Little Stevie doesn’t have to worry any longer,” he said, smiling easily. “He lets the others do the worrying.” He lifted his yellow fingers to his mouth, drawing deeply at a cigarette.
“Good heavens, Steve,” she burst out angrily. “Pull yourself
