As she went out of sight round the bend in the track, Dickson turned savagely on his companion.
"You fool!" he said. "You've done a fine thing now."
"I don't care," the girl answered sullenly.
"Don't you? Well, I'll make you."
"No, you won't," she said. "I'd have told her everything if she'd waited another minute. Then——"
"Then you'll say good-bye to your chance," he interrupted.
"I don't care," she repeated, in the same sullen tone. "I can tell Bobby and father, and—and Bobby'll kill you. He hates you enough."
He had no answer ready, and she went on.
"I know it's lies you told. You always told me lies—always. Only when I saw her come here it made me mad, and I wanted to hurt her first and you afterwards. I didn't care for hurting you so much so long as I hurt her. Now I know it was all lies you told me. She isn't after you; she wouldn't look at you. But you're after her, wanting to tell her all the lies you told me, and make her believe all the lies you did me, and she won't—she won't—and that's why I hate her. I believed them, and she won't. I believed you, and now—now you think you'll throw me over to take her on—and she won't—and I hate her for it, for she'll never be like me."
The girl stood with her mouth drawn and hard and her gleaming eyes staring at the ground.