“But she says he asked her to come in—said he would take the blame.”
“I told her not to go.”
“Poor baby! She's outside, now, weeping her eyes out on Bart's shoulder and he's trying to comfort her.”
It was purer English than Vic was accustomed to hear even from his schoolmistress, but more than the words, the voice surprised him, the low, controlled voice of a woman of gentle blood. He turned his head and looked out the window, baffled. Far above, shooting out of sight, went the slope of a mountain, a cliff shining in the slant sun of the afternoon here, a tumbled slide of rocks and debris there, and over the shoulder of this mountain he saw white-headed monsters stepping back in range beyond range. Why should a girl of refinement choose the isolation of such a place as this for her home? It was not the only strange thing about this household, however, and he would dismiss conjectures until he was once more on his feet.
She was saying: “Won't you speak to her now?”
A little pause. Then: “No, not until evenin'.”
“Please, Dan.”
“She's got to learn.”
A little exclamation of unhappiness and then the door moved open; Vic found himself looking up to the face with the golden hair which he remembered out of his nightmare. She nodded to him cheerily.
“I'm so happy that you're better,” she said. “Dan says that the fever is nearly gone.” She rested a large
