'I never had a mother, Mr Blake,' she innocently made answer.
'But, child, everyone must have had a mother.'
'Ye-es. At least I suppose so. But I think my mother must have ceased to be a property some time before I came.'
'Do you love your father, Lotty?'
'Except when he beats me.'
The child was lying back against recumbent Wallace, and on her bare arm above the elbow Antony thought he saw a wale. He seized her by the hand and uncovered the streak.
'Lotty,' he said, 'who struck you with a cane? And, Lotty, I saw a blue mark on your leg while in the boat. Who kicked you, child?'
'Father. Oh, don't tell! He'd kill me. And I'm only a property, and sometimes so awkward and naughty.' Her eyes were swimming in tears. 'I'm sure I have a cold,' she said, wiping them. 'But you won't tell father, ever, ever, ever?'
'Never, never, never,' promised Antony.
She grew calmer and happier now, and told him all the story of her young life as far as she knew it, and a deal about her many strange wanderings from the silvery Tweed to the rapid Spey with the Queerest Show.