Daisy drew a long breath of relief. Then, she thought, he didn't know, after all, just what she HAD done, and perhaps she could carry it through yet.
"You're mistaken," she said, in a kind way, "Patty did write that note, but she had her own reasons, and she desired, especially, that no one should mention the subject to her."
"Yes," said Bill, "and it's that strange reluctance to having the subject mentioned that makes me suspect YOUR hand in the matter. Patty refused to discuss it with me, but the look of blank astonishment in her face, when I referred to that note, convinced me there's a bit of deviltry SOMEWHERE. And I ascribe it to you!"
"You do me an injustice," and now Daisy's tone was haughty and distant; "but I cannot resent it. For Patty's sake, I too must refuse to discuss this matter. Think of me as you will,—I cannot defend myself."
Daisy's face grew so sad and martyr-like that generous-hearted Bill was almost convinced of her innocence.
"I say, Daisy," he began, "if I'm wronging you in this matter, I'll never forgive myself."
"Oh, never mind, Bill; I'm used to being misunderstood. But I'll forgive you, if you'll promise never to refer to the subject again to me, or to any one else."
Bill might have promised this, but the too eager gleam in Daisy's eyes again roused his suspicions. And just then he saw Patty crossing a bit of lawn near them.
"Whoo-ee!" he called, and as Patty turned, he beckoned for her to come to them.
"What's wanted?" called Patty, gaily, as she neared the arbour.