“Nothing, dear, nothing.”
“Why, little one, what is it?”
Catherine surrendered her place to him. Murchison’s arms went round the child. Gwen, though struggling to be brave, broke out again into uncontrollable and helpless weeping.
“I—I’s tired, father.”
“Tired! there, there! You must not cry like this,” and the big man’s face was a study in troubled tenderness.
“What has upset her, Kate?”
He looked at his wife.
“Jack has been teasing her.”
“The young scoundrel.”
“The boy’s in one of his trying moods.” And she could find no more to say against her son.