“It is the way of the world, I guess,” said Dollie, sadly, “for even my own father and mother condemned me before they knew I was guilty.”
“Oh, just hear this!” cried Marion, who had picked up the evening paper; “poor Mr. Ray’s father was buried to-day! The grief has killed him! And what do you think, Miss Ada Ray’s lover has thrown her over, and all on account of her sister’s misfortunes! Oh, I can hardly believe it! It is too utterly abominable!”
She threw down the paper in a burst of anger. She could not tolerate injustice, it made her furious to think of it.
“I expect that is why we have seen nothing of Mr. Ray this week,” said Dollie. “The poor old father, he must have been over-sensitive, for if his daughter was innocent he should not have grieved so. As for that fellow who professed to be a lover, why, he must have been a good-for-nothing to do a thing like that. She’s lucky to be rid of him!” she added, with unusual spirit.
But Marion was walking the floor in a perfect frenzy of indignation. She clenched her hands together as she thought over what she had just read.
“Mr. Ray, our dear, good friend. Oh, I am so sorry for him!” she cried. “He is going to take his two sisters abroad immediately. He has to, I can see that. It would be dreadful for them to stay here.”
“And we won’t see him again,” said Dollie, almost ready to cry.
Marion bit her lips and her gray eyes grew almost hard with agony.
“I’m afraid not,” she said, shortly: “the paper says he is to sail to-morrow.”
There was a sharp rap on the door, and Marion composed herself quickly and opened it.