"I'm sorry if she's ill, but I do dislike her so," she said.
Mr. Farley, too, was off his guard. "I hate her," he said, quickly. "Tell me, frankly, what you think about it?"
But Margaret shook her head impatiently. "I oughtn't to have said that; and I can't talk about it, Mr. Farley. I'm sure you will understand that the whole thing is painful, and not one that I can discuss."
"At any rate, I may congratulate you on your father's probable return?"
"Oh, he will not be here for a long time."
"But you know that his brother is dead?"
She started to her feet. "When did he die; how did you know?"
"He died yesterday after an operation at Melbourne. I have just seen it in an evening paper," Mr. Farley answered.
"Oh, my dear mother, she will get my father back," burst from Margaret's lips. "She is ill, but this news will make her better. I have been writing to my half-sister"—and she took up the letter—"I will open it and tell her, for she may not know." Without knowing it, she showed her impatience to be alone, and in a few minutes Dawson Farley discreetly took his leave.
"I'm not going on with it," he thought, as he walked back to Victoria Street. "That girl is a sweet woman, dignified and courageous, and I can't be turned into a common scoundrel to please Mrs. Lakeman."