"Too likely! I'm very anxious to find out from headquarters if it's true or not."
"If you ask me, I'll answer honestly. I can't and won't lie to you."
"I'll take you at your word and ask you—in a minute. You may be angry when I do. But—it will save time. It'll clear up all my difficulties at one fell swoop."
"Why wait a minute, then?" I ventured, with faint bitterness, because his "difficulties" seemed so small compared with mine. He was in the right in everything. This was his home. The dear Becketts were his people. All the world was his.
"I wait a minute, because something has to be told you before I can ask you to answer any more questions. When I didn't know who or what my—er—official fiancée would turn out to be, this was the plan I made, to save my parents' feelings—and yours. I thought that, when we'd had the interview I asked you to give me, we could manage to quarrel, or discover that we didn't like each other as well as before. We could break off our engagement, and Father and Mother need never know—how it began."
"A very generous idea of yours!" I cried, the blood so hot in my cheeks that it forced tears to my eyes. "It had occurred to me, too, that for their sakes we might manage that way. Thank you, Mr. Beckett, for sparing me the pain—I deserve. I couldn't have dared hope for such a happy solution——"
"Couldn't you?"
"No. I——"
"Well, I'm hoping for an even happier one—a lot happier. But of course it depends on what you say to Mr. O'Farrell's—accusation."
"He—made an accusation?"