“What did they tell you?”
“That you were a ‘rough-looking customer.’ ”
The man laughed a short, grim laugh, which showed no amusement.
“Well, yes; I suppose they were about right. But who were ‘they’?”
“The people at Oldcastle Farm.”
The man stopped short just as, after leading her along a wide, stone-paved entry, between the outer wall and the side of the house, he turned into a large square court-yard.
“Oh!” he said, and lifting his lantern again, he subjected the young lady to a second close scrutiny. “So you’ve been making friends with those vermin.”
Freda did not answer for a moment. Presently she said, in a stifled voice:
“I am not able to choose my friends.”
“You mean that you haven’t got any? Poor creature, poor creature, that’s not far from the truth, I suppose. That father of yours didn’t treat you over well, or consider you over much, did he?”