Faith turned quickly. She was quite white.
"Father, Mr. Carnegie had not been drinking. He did not touch the wine and—and I'm the only one to blame." She burst into tears and, hiding her face in both hands, started to run into her own stateroom, but her father caught her and, with a tender arm about her waist, drew her down upon his knee.
"I don't understand you, daughter," he said in a voice of yearning tenderness, for whenever his children were in trouble, it always seemed to him that his fair young wife stood at his elbow inciting him to gentleness. "I don't understand, but I must. Why should two heady young fools quarrel over my little girl? She is no coquette, I'm sure."
"Papa," put in Hope, for her sister was sobbing helplessly upon his shoulder, "Faith is not to blame, and I don't half understand it, myself, but I'll tell you just what happened—" and she did, much as it has been repeated here.
Her father listened with a darkening face.
"Some cursed gossip!" he muttered as she finished, while Faith managed to murmur,
"I didn't mean any harm, papa. I talked to him just as we do to
Dwight, and he told me about his home, and what he is going to do in
India. You might have heard every word, papa!"
"Of course, of course, I understand. Only, I ought to have warned you; a steamer is a perfect hot-bed of gossip on a long voyage like this. But how did that scapegrace get hold of—wait! Hasn't he been with that little Mrs. Campbell most of the day?"
"Yes, he has," said Hope. "They wouldn't play gromets with us, you remember; she said it was too warm."
"Too warm, indeed! I'd like to consign such mischief-makers to a hotter place. Well, well, don't worry now. I begin to comprehend it all."