“Were you talking to some one, Crispin?” she cried.
He started at the sound of her voice, and came towards her with impatient steps.
“What the d——l are you doing out here?” he asked angrily, with a stamp of his foot on the ground.
“I came out to talk to you,” she answered. “I sha’n’t catch cold.”
“You’ll catch something worse than cold if you come wandering out here at all hours of the night,” muttered Crispin roughly. “Nell must keep you indoors.”
He came through the sheltered colonnade, stamping the snow off his feet.
“You’re a very disagreeable man, Crispin,” said Freda, watching him gravely. “You must have been very good to my father for him to have kept you about him so long. It shows,” she went on triumphantly, “that he must have been much more amiable than they say. Do you know I think you only talk against him to tease me. But it is horrible, now that he’s dead.”
Her voice sank on the last word, and the tears started again.
When Crispin answered, which was not at once, his voice was scarcely so harsh as before, though he spoke rather scoffingly.
“Women are always full of fancies. I don’t wonder your father couldn’t stand them!”