“Yes, my darling?”
“This man who is lying ill.”
“Yes, yes. We must do all we can.”
“No, father,” she said, speaking more firmly now. “We cannot go to him.”
“Eh! Why not?”
“Because—because,” faltered Dinah, with her voice sounding husky. Then growing strong, and her eyes looking hard and glittering, “Soon after he came down here, he began to follow me about.”
“What! The scoundrel!” roared the Major.
“And one day he spoke to me—and insulted me.”
“The dog—the miserable hound. But—here, Dinah—why was I not told of this?”
“Because, dear—I thought it better—I felt that I could not speak—I—”