“There has been some hideous blunder.”
“No, it is simple enough,” said Netty, curling herself up on a low settee. “Think what it may mean to me—just engaged to Harry Bent—and now, there’s no knowing what he may do. His people 162 may resent his bringing into the family the sister of a—forger.”
“Netty, you sha’n’t speak of Dick like that!”
“Why shouldn’t I? Did he think of me? Really, you are too absurd! I don’t see why you should excite yourself about it. If you think that he cared for you only, you are merely one more foolish victim.”
“Netty, how can you talk of your brother so! He is accused of a horrible crime. Why don’t you stand up for him? Why don’t you do something to clear him? What is your father doing—and your mother?”
“Surely, they can be left to manage their affairs as they think best.”
“And I, who loved him, must do nothing, I suppose,” cried Dora, hysterically. “I loved him, I tell you, and he loved me. We were engaged.”
“Engaged! What nonsense! Really, Dora!”
“No one knew, Netty,” sobbed Dora, aching for a little feminine sympathy, even from Netty. “Here is his ring, upon this ribbon round my neck.”
“Surely, you don’t think that is interesting to me—and at such a time.”