Morton was sulky.
"Now Vivian, are you down on me too? I thought I had one friend."
"You ought to tell me," she said more gently. "How can I be your friend if I don't know the facts? They are saying perfectly awful things."
"Who are?"
"Why—the Foote girls—everybody."
"Oh those old maids aren't everybody, I assure you. You see, Vivian, you live right here in this old oyster of a town—and you make mountains out of molehills like everybody else. A girl of your intelligence ought to know better."
She drew a great breath of relief. "Then you haven't—done it?"
"Done what? What's all this mysterious talk anyhow? The prisoner has a right to know what he's charged with before he commits himself."
The girl was silent, finding it difficult to begin.