'Oh dear, I am so unhappy,' she said.
I took her hand again.
'Poor little Hildred, I'm very sorry for you.'
'It's all your father's fault,' said Hildred, with a little impatient stamp of her foot upon the ground. 'How could he be so wicked?'
'It was a mistake,' I said, after a moment's pause.
'It was cruel of him. Oh, poor Cuthbert! Why did you let him go?'
'I, Hildred?'
'Yes, how could you? He will just go and be killed in the wars, and then you will be sorry.'
It was weak, almost unmanly, to mind her childish words, but I could not help it. I turned and walked away. The next moment she ran after me.
'Willie, I don't quite mean it; you know I don't.' She looked up with one of her own coaxing smiles. 'Don't be angry; I think being unhappy makes me cross, and I've got such a pain in my throat that I don't know what to do.'