"He isn't my friend," replied Dick almost involuntarily; "he's just—but perhaps you wouldn't understand."
"He isn't a good man," she cried impulsively. "I don't like him. I know I ought not to say this. Granddad often tells me that I let my tongue run away with me. But he's not a good man, and—and I think he's your enemy."
Dick was silent.
"Is he staying with you long?" she went on.
"No, not long."
"I'm glad of that. He isn't nice. He's—he's—I don't know what. I shall tell Granddad I've been here."
"He won't be angry, will he?"
"No; he's never angry. Besides, I think he'll understand. You'll come and see us soon, won't you?"
"I'm afraid I shall not be able to. I'm going away."