"No; I don't know shorthand at all. And I didn't—"
"Stop, I say, Azalea! I know you wrote that! Now, tell me why! I can't imagine any reason for it."
The girl was stubbornly silent
"Unless you tell me why you did it, I shall be compelled to think there is some wrong reason—"
"Oh, no, there isn't!"
"Then,—come now, Zaly,—'fess up. Was it for a joke on me?"
"Yes, yes, that was it!"
"No, that wasn't it, and you only grasped at my suggestion to evade the real truth! Now, you must tell me. Out with it!"
"Well—you see, Cousin William, you are always asking me why I don't get letters from my father, and—as I didn't get any, I manufactured one to—to satisfy you. That's all."
"No, no, my girl, we haven't got the truth yet. You had more of a motive than that. And, too, why don't you get letters from your father? Is he angry with you? Are you two at odds?"