'Yes,' was Tom Beadle's careless comment, 'the old chap's 'elped Blade-o'-Grass a good many times, on and off. He's knowed 'er since she was a kid.'
There was not a trace of gratitude in his voice.
'She has made other friends as well,' I said.
A jealous gleam shot into his eyes.
'What friends? Swells?'
'Friends,' I answered, 'who sympathise deeply with her, and who would help her if they could.'
'What's to 'inder 'em?'
I did not answer him. I left it to him to gather from my silence that it was he who barred the way to a better kind of life for the poor girl; that it was her entire devotion to him that kept her down.
'I know what you're drivin' at; it's me as 'inders 'em,' he said, with a sneer. 'Well, that's nothink new. Blade-o'-Grass and me's 'eerd that often enough. The way they'd 'elp 'er is by tellin' 'er to cut away from me. I don't think the old gal 'd do that. I'd bet a penny you've been tryin' to persuade 'er.'
'On the contrary; I have begged her to ask you to do something that will bring her closer to you.'