Nic gave a violent start, and darted a reproachful glance at the visitor.
“There, leave us together a bit, doctor,” she said quickly, “and I’ll be bound to say when lunch is ready we shall both of us be as hungry as sailors with talking, for I’ve got to question him and answer all his.”
“To be sure, to be sure,” said the doctor. “Then, if you will excuse me, Lady O’Hara, I will adjourn to the schoolroom.”
“There, Dominic,” cried the lady as soon as they were alone, “now we can talk like old friends. But tell me what made you start and colour like a great gyurl when I talked of making a convict of you?”
Nic was silent.
“Won’t you tell me?” cried the lady, smiling at him in a winning, frank way, which unlocked the boy’s lips at once and made him feel eager to confide in one who took so much interest in him.
“Yes, I’ll tell you,” he cried: “it’s one of the boys—the biggest. He has set it about that my father is—is—is—”
“A convict?”
Nic nodded, and his brow contracted.
“The impudence!”