“Only seven annas three pice! And you call that a good meeting! I don't believe you exhorted them to give!”
“Oh, I think I did!” Laura returned mechanically.
“Seven annas and three pice! And you know what the Commissioner wrote out about our last quarter's earnings! What did you say?”
“I said—I said the collection would now be taken up,” Laura faltered.
“Oh dear! oh dear! Leopold, stop clawing me! Couldn't you think of anythin' more tellin' or more touchin' than that? Fever or no fever, it does not do for me to stay away from the regular meetin's. One thing is plain—HE wasn't there!”
“Who?”
“Well, you've never told me his name, but I expect you've got your reasons.” Mrs. Sand's tone was not arch, but slightly resentful. “I mean the gentleman that attends so regular and sits behind, under the window. A society man, I should say, to look at him, though the officers of this Army are no respecters of persons, and I don't suppose the Lord takes any notice of his clothes.”
“His name is Mr. Lindsay. No, he wasn't there.”
The girl's tone was distant and cold. The rebuke about the collection had gone home to a place raw with similar reproaches.
“I hope you haven't been discouraging him?”