“Seemly!” said Dorothy. “If I were a man I would bring him to justice, and it took me a lifetime. Nay, if I were a man and could use a sword—”
“Dorothy! Dorothy!” interrupted Mrs. Manners.
Dorothy sat down, the light lingering in her eyes. She had revealed more of herself in that instant than in all her life before.
“It is a grave charge, Richard,” said Mrs. Manners, at length. “And your uncle is a man of the best standing in Annapolis.”
“You must remember his behaviour before my mother's marriage, Mrs. Manners.”
“I do, I do, Richard,” she said sadly. “And I have never trusted him since. I suppose you are not making your accusation without cause?”
“I have cause enough,” I answered bitterly.
“And proof?” she added. She should have been the man in her family.
I told her how Harvey had overheard the bits of the plot at Carvel Hall near two years gone; and now that I had begun, I was going through with Mr. Allen's part in the conspiracy, when Dorothy startled us both by crying:
“Oh, there is so much wickedness in the world, I wish I had never been born!”