Winifred sprang to her feet, her face crimson as upon that day when I had made the blunder about Granny's sight.
"For shame!" she cried—"for shame! How could you think of such a thing? Niall, who is so good and who is giving his whole life for one purpose!"
I did feel unaccountably ashamed of myself.
"You must remember that I do not know Niall," I argued.
"Do you think evil of people without even knowing them?" Winifred cried impetuously. "If that's the way they do in America, I don't want to go there, and I won't go there."
"It is the way of the world, as you will find when you are older," I replied somewhat sharply; for I was vexed at being put in the wrong by this child. Having been treated with deference by all about her since her infancy, she knew little of the respect due to those who were older; and only such religious training as she had received from Father Owen, with an innate sense of propriety and a natural courtesy, prevented her from being that most objectionable of beings—a spoiled, selfish child.
I saw that Winifred was already ashamed of her vehemence, and I pointed to the stool at my feet.
"Sit down again, little one," I said, "and let me finish what I have to say; for I think it is my duty to speak out."
She obeyed in silence, and after a brief pause I went on:
"This is how it all appears to me, or would appear to any one of experience. The man Niall seems poor, leads a strange, solitary life, and yet he gives you articles of great value. There is, to say the least of it, a mystery as to how he procures them."