“But Ernest is not like that, Dorothea. He is not like that with my sisters. Why, he is rather the other way, awfully polite and all that sort of thing, you know.”
“Yes, that's the way with young German gentlemen to young ladies, that is, other people's ladies. But to their own, no. And I must tell you. Oh, I am afraid to tell you,” she added breathlessly. “But I will tell you, you have been so kind, so good to me. You are my friend, and you will not tell. Promise me you will never tell.” The girl's usually red face was pale, her voice was hoarse and trembling.
“What is the matter, Dorothea? Of course I won't tell.”
“Ernest wants to marry your sister, Kathleen. He is just mad to get her, and he always gets his way too. I would not like to see your sister his wife. He would break her heart and,” she added in a lower voice, “yours too. But remember you are not to tell. You are not to let him know I told you.” A real terror shone in her eyes. “Do you hear me?” she cried. “He would beat me with his whip. He would, he would.”
“Beat you, beat you?” Larry pulled up his horse short. “Beat you in this country—oh, Dorothea!”
“They do. Our men do beat their women, and Ernest would too. The women do not think the same way about it as your women. You will not tell?” she urged.
“What do you think I am, Dorothea? And as for beating you, let me catch him. By George, I'd, I'd—”
“What?” said Dorothea, turning her eyes full upon him, her pale face flushing.
Larry laughed. “Well, he's a big chap, but I'd try to knock his block off. But it's nonsense. Ernest is not that kind. He's an awfully good sort.”
“He is, he is a good sort, but he is also a German officer and, ah, you cannot understand, but do not let him have your sister. I have told you. Come, let us go quickly.”