"I don't understand, but I must. Why should two heady
young fools quarrel over my little girl? She is no coquette, I'm sure."
"Papa," put in Hope, for her sister was sobbing helplessly upon his
shoulder, "Faith is not to blame, and I don't half understand it,
myself, but I'll tell you just what happened--" and she did, much as it
has been repeated here.
Her father listened with a darkening face.
"Some cursed gossip!" he muttered as she finished, while Faith managed
to murmur,
"I didn't mean any harm, papa. I talked to him just as we do to
Dwight, and he told me about his home, and what he is going to do in
India. You might have heard every word, papa!"
"Of course, of course, I understand. Only, I ought to have warned you;
a steamer is a perfect hot-bed of gossip on a long voyage like this.
But how did that scapegrace get hold of--wait! Hasn't he been with
that little Mrs. Campbell most of the day?"
"Yes, he has," said Hope. "They wouldn't play gromets with us, you
remember; she said it was too warm."
"Too warm, indeed! I'd like to consign such mischief-makers to a
hotter place. Well, well, don't worry now. I begin to comprehend it
all."
"But how should Mrs. Campbell know, papa?"
"Because she was pacing the deck herself, or sitting in a corner. I
saw her under a smokestack with that Russian--no fit companion either.
Had to leave his own country because of his record. She's a nice one
to talk--but that's the very kind.
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