Her face paled slightly, and her eyes opened with wonder and pain.
“Is he so very bad and wicked?” she asked, almost inaudibly.
Gideon Rolfe strode to and fro for a moment before he answered. How should he answer her?—how warn and caution her without destroying the innocence which, like the sensitive plant, withers at a touch?
“Is it not sufficient that I wish it, Una?” he said. “Why are you not satisfied? Wicked! Yes, he’s wicked; all men are wicked, and he’s the most wicked and base!”
“You know him, father?” she asked. “You would not say so if you did not. I am sorry he is so bad.”
“Look at me, Una,” he said.
She turned, her eyes downcast and hidden, her lips trembling for a moment.
“Yes, father.”
“Una,” he said, “what is the meaning of this? Why are you changed—why do you shrink from me?”
She looked up with a curious mixture of innocent pride and dignity.