"Oh, Scott!" Almost fiercely Dinah cut him short. "How can you—you of all people—say a thing like that?"
Scott looked at her quizzically for a moment. "I should have thought I was the one person who could say it," he observed.
Dinah turned from him sharply. Her hands were clenched. "Oh no! Oh no!" she said incoherently. "It's not right! It's not fair! You—you—Mr. Greatheart!" Quite suddenly, as if the utterance of the name were too much for her, she broke down, covered her face, and wept.
"Dinah!" said Scott.
He came to her and took her very gently by the arm. Dinah's shoulders were shaking. She could not lift her face.
"Why—why shouldn't your dream come true too?" she sobbed. "You—who help everybody—to get what they want!"
"My dear," Scott said, "my dream is over. Don't you grieve on my account! God knows I'm not grieving for myself." His voice was low, but very steadfast.
"You wouldn't!" said Dinah.
"No; because it's futile, unnecessary, a waste of time. I've other things to do—plenty of other things." Scott braced himself with the words, as one who manfully lifts a burden. "Cheer up, Dinah! I didn't mean to make you sad."
"But—but—are you sure—quite sure—she didn't care?" faltered Dinah, rubbing her eyes woefully.