"Ah," he said, smiling, "how well you meet my points! You are of age, and no doubt you are right about the courts. There is no law that will prohibit my trying, I think. And Charlie is not of age, if my recollection serves me."
Before Sally could frame an answer, there was a slight noise in the hall and Charlie burst in. "I beg your pardon," he said hastily. The two were standing, and he had not recognized Sally. But an instant's gaze was enough. "Sally!" he exclaimed. He looked at the man. A wave of red rushed into his face. "Charlie!" he cried involuntarily. Then he recovered. "What are you doing here? What do you mean by coming to see my sister?"
Sally was inexpressibly distressed. She started to speak. She would have said something—told him the truth, of course—to save them both; but a quiet movement of her father's hand stopped her. He seemed to be waiting patiently for the next stone.
"Do you know, Sally," Charlie continued, "who this man is? He is the dealer in number seven. He has no right—no business to try to see you. I insist on his leaving at once."
Sally spoke with surprising gentleness, considering her mode of speech to her father only a few minutes before. "We have some business, Charlie," she said. "He will go as soon as that is done. Now, leave us, please, to finish it, for we have not a great deal of time. It is all right."
And Charlie withdrew slowly, with many a glance from one to the other and many a misgiving as to the business which seemed to be of so private a nature. They heard his steps retreating down the hall.
Sally turned her shocked face to her father, "Won't you sit down?" she asked gently. "I am very sorry; sorrier than I can tell you—for—everything, but especially for that speech of Charlie's. But Charlie did not know."
"And I prefer that he shouldn't," her father replied. He had seated himself with his face half turned away from the light. "I have many hard things to bear, Sally, and, strange as it may seem to you, I try to bear them with patience. I have to, so why make a virtue of necessity? That speech of Charlie's—made in ignorance—was less hard for me than your own."
"I am sorry," Sally said again, "but I meant what I said, most emphatically. You are not to suppose that I didn't. But I am sorry for my manner—if it hurt you."
He smiled faintly. "It was not intended to soothe or to amuse, I take it," he remarked. And he lapsed into silence, fingering his hat nervously and turning it around in his hands.