“Why should he not write himself if it were so?”
“He is too much ashamed, and gets his friend to do it for him. I know the ways of young men!”
“Perhaps he is ill!” said Molly.
“Perhaps. It is long since I saw a letter from him! I am never allowed to read or hear one!”
“Can you wonder at that, when you are always abusing him? If he were my son, I should take care you never saw a scrap of his writing! It makes me wild to hear those I love talked of as you talk of him—always with a sniff!”
“Love, indeed! Do you suppose no one loves him but you?”
“His father loves him dearly!”
“How dare you hint that I do not love him!”
“If yours is love, auntie, I wish I may never meet it where I’ve no chance of defending myself!”
Molly had a hot temper where her friends were concerned, though she would bear a good deal without retorting.