He took out
a cigarette and lighted it. "Her mother is wondering what has become of
her," he added, between the puffs.
"I posted a letter to Mrs. Bathurst about an hour ago," said Scott. "She
will get it in the morning."
"Indeed!" Bathurst glanced at him. "And is her whereabouts to remain a
mystery until then?"
"That letter will reassure you as to her safety," Scott returned quietly.
"But it will not enlighten you as to her whereabouts. She is in good
hands, and it is not her intention to return home--at least for the
present. Under the circumstances you could scarcely compel her to do so."
"I never compel her to do anything," said Bathurst comfortably. "Her
mother keeps her in order, I have nothing to do with it."
"Evidently not." A sudden sharp quiver of scorn ran through Scott's
words. "Her mother may make her life a positive hell, but it's no
business of yours!"
A flicker of temper shone for a second in Bathurst's eyes. The scorn had
penetrated even his thick skin. "None whatever," he said deliberately.
"Nor of yours either, so far as I can see."
"There you are wrong." Hotly Scott took him up. "It is the duty of every
man to prevent cruelty. Dinah has been treated like a bond-slave all her
life. What were you about to allow it?"
He flung the question fiercely. The man's careless repudiation of all
responsibility aroused in him a perfect storm of indignation.
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