Even this made no impression upon the girl. “It is curious,” she said, still to herself, “very curious--quite different from--the other way. I suppose this is the English way? Benedetta always says the English are half mad. I suppose instead of asking about the _dot_, and that kind of thing, you know, papa--I suppose this is the English way?” “It is the foolish way,” cried the father. “Come, it is nothing to you, Rita. You don’t mean to say--no, no, my darling; I know better--you don’t mean to make me believe that you, so clever as you are, and knowing so much, could think twice about any notion that came into the noddle of such an empty-headed young man.” “Is he empty-headed?” said Rita, reflectively. “He does not know much, that is quite true; he is not a bit clever; but I think it is a little unjust to call him empty-headed. He was always just himself; he never pretended to anything else. Sometimes he understood--very often he didn’t; but he never pretended, papa. Don’t you think it is a little hard upon him?” she said, turning round upon her father suddenly, and fixing him with her large, serious, impartial eyes. “Don’t you think it is hard to take advantage of what he has said himself, and turn him out like this?” “I have not turned him out. Rita, this is mere folly. I will not have you led away by your feelings. If any man were to kill me, I believe you would say he didn’t mean it, poor fellow, it would be hard upon him to hang him. Come, child, let us be done with this.” “But, papa,” said Rita, “there is no evidence against him but his own confession. I have often heard you say that one should not take advantage of that. Kill you--who wants to kill you? There could not be a more different question. I am not led away by my feelings. I have no feelings but right and justice. I don’t think you ought to have taken that advantage of him. It must be very hard upon him, papa, to shut him out. Think! he will have nowhere else to go to. I dare say he spends his evenings in the cafés. He can’t know what to do with himself at nights.” “As if I had anything to do with his entertainment in the evening! I wish to heaven he had never set foot within my house!” “Ah! but that is past praying for. I don’t see why you should wish such a thing; but still, if you do wish it, it is a pity, for it is too late. He _has_ set foot within your house, and we have a responsibility about him. We have a responsibility,” said Rita, very gravely shaking her head. “He is young, and he is very simple-minded, and he might, as you are always saying, take a wrong turn; and then whose fault would it be?” “Not mine,” cried the persecuted man, “certainly not mine--that I’ll swear to. Am I the fellow’s keeper? Rita, for heaven’s sake be done with all that nonsense. If you can talk of nothing more sensible, you had much better go to bed.”