"Just what I said," returned Patty, calmly. "You know, dear, you've made us think there's something queer about your father. Is he—has he done anything wrong?"
"No, Patty, goodness, gracious no! Mr. Thorpe is a most honoured and honourable man!"
"Now why does she call him Mr. Thorpe?" Patty wondered, but she only said;
"Oh, all right, forgive my suggestion. Why doesn't he write to you?"
"He—he?—oh, Patty, that's the trouble."
"Good! Now we're getting at it. How is that the trouble?"
"Shall I tell you everything?" and poor Azalea looked doubtful as to what to do.
"Yes, dear," Patty said, gently, fearing even yet that an ill-advised word would interrupt or prevent this long-deferred explanation.
"Well, you see,—oh, Patty,—I'm a wicked, deceitful girl—"
"Out with it," urged Patty, not greatly scared by this tragic beginning,—for Azalea was prone to exaggerate.