"My poor child! Yes, you were with him at the time. If only I had dreamt! But you were always with him!" added the mother in sudden alarm. "It cannot be possible—Irralie—that you ever liked him?"
"I did—most certainly," said Irralie, stoutly. Her forehead was hot to the hand which smoothed her hair back tenderly.
"You cannot like him now!"
"Now? I hate him!" cried the girl. "I hate him! If you knew how he lied—to me! Nothing could be too bad for him, mother. Did they"
She checked herself.
"Yes, Irralie?"
"Oh, nothing. I was only wondering whether they did up his hand again."
"Yes, at once. Mr. FuUarton saw to it himself."
"And is he—behaving himself—in the iron-store?"
"He has never made a sound."
"Nor owned up to anything, I suppose?"
