"He may be foolish in this," Dorothy said; "but I don't think you should call him a fool."
"I shall call him what I please. I suppose this was going on at the time when you refused Mr. Gibson."
"Nothing was going on. Nothing has gone on at all," said Dorothy, with as much indignation as she was able to assume.
"How can you tell me that? That is an untruth."
"It is not—an untruth," said Dorothy, almost sobbing, but driven at the same time to much anger.
"Do you mean to say that this is the first you ever heard of it?" And she held out the letter, shaking it in her thin hand.
"I have never said so, Aunt Stanbury."
"Yes, you did."
"I said that nothing—was—going on, when Mr. Gibson—was—. If you choose to suspect me, Aunt Stanbury, I'll go away. I won't stay here if you suspect me. When Brooke spoke to me, I told him you wouldn't like it."
"Of course I don't like it." But she gave no reason why she did not like it.