Carlen looked up apprehensively into his face; never had she seen there so stern a look.
"I must help mütter with the supper," she said, hesitating.
John laughed scornfully. "You were helping with the supper, I suppose, sitting out with yon tramp!" And he pointed to the stoop.
Carlen had, with all her sunny cheerfulness, a vein of her father's temper. Her face hardened, and her blue eyes grew darker.
"Why do you call Wilhelm a tramp," she said coldly.
"What is he then, if he is not a tramp?" retorted John.
"He is no tramp," she replied, still more doggedly.
"What do you know about him?" said John.
Carlen made no reply. Her silence irritated John more than any words could have done; and losing self-control, losing sight of prudence, he poured out on her a torrent of angry accusation and scornful reproach.
She stood still, her eyes fixed on the ground. Even in his hot wrath, John noticed this unwonted downcast look, and taunted her with it.