“Why, Bess! This poor girl had nothing to do with her father wronging your father—”
“I don’t care. She’s his daughter. It’s in the blood. I wouldn’t trust her a single bit. I wouldn’t speak to her. And no girl can be her friend and mine, too!”
“Why, Bess! don’t say that,” urged Wyn. “You and I have been friends for years and years. We wouldn’t want to have a falling out.”
“I see no need for us to fall out,” exclaimed Bessie, her eyes still flashing. “But I just won’t associate with girls who associate with those low people–there now!”
“Now do you feel better, Bess?” asked Wyn, laughing.
That was the worst of Wyn Mallory! All the girls said so. One couldn’t “fight” with her. For, you see, it takes two at least to keep a quarrel alive, although but one to start it.
“Well, you don’t know how mean that man, Jarley, was to my father. And years ago they were the very best of friends. Why! they went to school together, and were chums–just as thick as you and I are, Wynnie–just as thick. And for him to be a traitor—”
“If he was, don’t you think he has been paying for it?” asked Wyn, sensibly. “According to what I hear he is poor, and ill, and unfortunate—”
“I don’t know whether he is or not. It was only a few weeks ago we heard of his stealing a motor boat up there at the lake and some other valuables, and selling them—”
“He wouldn’t be poor if he had done that; would he?” interrupted Wyn. “For I know for a fact that he is very, very poor.”