“Uncle, uncle,” she cried piteously. “You see it has been a terrible upset for me, while as to your poor father—”
“But, uncle, dear, what could I do?”
“Well, when you were writing, you might have said a little more.”
“I wrote what poor Harry forced me to write. What else could I say?”
“You see, it has upset us all so terribly. George—I mean your father—will never forgive you.”
“But you do not put yourself in my place, uncle. Think of how Harry was situated; think of his horror of being taken. Indeed, he was half mad.”
“No: quite, Louie; and you seem to have caught the complaint.”
“I hardly knew what I did. It was like some terrible dream. Harry frightened me then.”
“Enough to frighten any one, appearing like a ghost at the window when we believed he was dead.”
“I did not mean that, uncle. I mean that he was in a terrible state of fever, and hardly seemed accountable for his actions. I think I should have felt obliged to go with him, even if he had not been so determined.”