“What’s the matter, Dulcie?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? That’s a very dreary malady—nothing. You look lonely. Are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know whether you are lonely or not?” he demanded.
“I suppose I am,” she ventured, with a shy smile.
“Where is your father?”
“He went out.”
“Any letters for me—or messages?”
“A man—he had one eye—came. He asked who you are.”