He regarded her with disgust.
"You are thinking of Mal, of course," he declared.

"What's the use?
You know what _I_ think: you were a fool to write him that letter." "Don't, Steve; please don't." "Ugh!" "Don't you know he didn't get the letter?
I was so nervous and over-wrought that I misdirected it." "Pooh! Has he ever stayed away from you so long before?
Or his precious mother, either?
Why doesn't she come to see you?
She scarcely missed a day before this happened.

Nonsense! I guess he got it all right." "Steve, stop! stop! Don't dare speak like that.

Do you realize what you are insinuating?
You don't believe it! You know you don't! Shame on you! I'm ashamed of my brother! No! not another word of that kind, or I shall leave the room." She had risen to her feet.

He looked at her determined face and turned away.
"Oh, well," he muttered, sullenly, "maybe you're right.