"Speak up!" commanded Sam's father.
"Yes—and no lies," said her uncle.
"I don't know what you mean," Susan at last answered—truthfully enough, yet to gain time, too.
"You can't play that game any longer," cried Warham. "You did make a fool of me, but my eyes are open. Your aunt's right about you."
"Oh, Uncle George!" said the girl, a sob in her voice.
But he gazed pitilessly—gazed at the woman he was now abhorring as the treacherous, fallen, unsexed daughter of fallen Lorella. "Speak out. Crying won't help you. What have you and this fellow been up to? You disgrace!"
Susan shrank and shivered, but answered steadfastly, "That's between him and me, Uncle."
Warham gave a snort of fury, turned to the elder Wright. "You see, Wright," cried he. "It's as my wife and I told you. Your boy's lying. We'll send the landlady out for a preacher and marry them."
"Hold on, George," objected Wright soothingly. "I agreed to that only if there'd been something wrong. I'm not satisfied yet." He turned to Susan, said in his gruff, blunt way:
"Susan, have you been loose with my boy here?"