But I am not going to disobey you, and talk of people behind their backs, Miss Atherton.

I am sure you will approve of that." "I do; I never like it unless it is something nice of them." "Then I certainly had better not talk to you about Mr Jeffreys," said Scarfe with a sneer, which did him more damage in Raby's eyes than a torrent of abuse from his lips.

"Do you know you have never yet shown me the telegram you had about your father's last battle?
It came the morning I was away, you know." "Yes.

I fancied perhaps you did not care to see it, as you never asked me," said Raby, producing the precious paper from her dress, where she kept it like a sort of talisman.
"How could you think that ?" said Scarfe reproachfully, who had quite forgotten to ask to see it.
He took the paper and glanced down it.
"Hullo!" said he, starting as Jeffreys had done.

"Captain Forrester! I wonder if that's poor young Forrester's father ?" "Who is poor young Forrester ?" inquired Raby.
Scarfe read the paper to the end, and then looked up in well-simulated confusion.
"Poor young Forrester?
Oh--well, I dare say Jeffreys could tell you about him.