"I am sorry I heard what I did, Jennie; sorry to think that you are so poor as to lay the vilest construction on an affair of which you evidently know nothing, and sorry you could not keep your views to yourself." It was the habit of all of Levice's relatives to listen in silence to any personal reprimand the dignified old man might offer.
"I heard a good part of your conversation, and I can only characterize it as--petty. Can't you and your friends see anything without springing at shilling-shocker conclusions? Don't you know that people sometimes enjoy themselves without any further design? So much for the theatre talk. What is more serious is the fact that you could so misjudge my honorable friend, Dr. Kemp. Such a thing, Jennie, my girl, would be as remote from Dr. Kemp's possibilities as the antipodes. Remember, what I say is indisputable. Whether Ruth knew the story of this girl or not, I cannot say, but either way I feel assured that what she did was well done--if innocently; if with knowledge, so much the better. And I venture to assert that she is not a whit harmed by the action. In all probability she will tell us all the particulars if we ask her. Otherwise, Jennie, don't you think you have been unnecessarily alarmed?" The benign gentleness of his question calmed Mrs. Lewis.
"Uncle," she replied earnestly, "in my life such things are not trivial; perhaps because my life is narrower. I know you and Ruth take a different view of everything."
"Don't disparage yourself; people generally do that to be contradicted or to show that they know their weaknesses and have never cared to change them. A woman of your intelligence need never sink to the level of a spiteful chatterbox; every one should keep his tongue sheathed, for it is more deadly than a sword. Your higher interests should make you overlook every little action of your neighbors. You only see or hear what takes place when the window is open; you can never judge from this what takes place when the window is shut. How are the children?"
By dint of great tenderness he strove to make her more at ease.
Ruth, confronted with their knowledge, confessed, with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes, her contretemps.
"And," she said in conclusion, "Father, Mamma, nothing you can say will make me retract anything I have done or purpose doing."
"Nothing?" repeated her father.
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our tents. They were very civil, and offered us a house;
The two turned up a side street away from the inn. They
but he was morally certain that her grief was more than
another post—beyond that he saw no soldiers. He turned
the great caravan routes entering the Sahara from the south.
scarce a hundred yards from where the American hid. He
to bear a little to the southeast, passing through Tafelberg
snapping short the blade of his knife. For a moment he
in an iron sluice gate. The Eurasian had passed it, but
escaped in disguise. I really wasn't sure that you were
away from our tents the large circle of lookers on. An
At last darkness came, and with it they approached and