"Did you hear what old Peter said," she asked.
"I did; and it is plain enough that Mr. Whippleton is in the secret, and has even told it to his cook."
"If I ever get home again, I shall not disobey my father. To think that the wretch told Mr. Whippleton all about it beforehand."
"I supposed he had," I replied, as I opened the letter.
"What does he say, Philip?" asked Marian, curiously.
"'Dear Ben'—that's the way he begins. 'How is the fawn?'"
"The fawn?"
"Probably meaning Miss Collingsby," I replied. "'I was afraid Phil would give you some trouble when I saw you had him on board. But you fixed him handsomely. I saw him tip over the bow of the boat. If you hadn't got rid of him, I should have gone ashore and helped you. I'm glad it's all right. Why didn't you run up the river farther, and anchor near the Florina? I thought I wouldn't call upon you till I knew how the fawn was. If she is agreeable, we will run to St. Joseph in the morning, and have your business done before noon.'"
"The brute!" exclaimed Marian, indignantly. "This has cured me of all the romance I ever had. I used to think my father was very harsh; but now I know he was right. He knew this man better than I did."
The familiarity and coarseness of the epistle were very offensive to her, and she could hardly restrain her indignation.