If she insisted on being unpleasant about this, he would show her. For the moment, Bill was very much of a spoiled child.
"Well," retorted Mary, "there isn't much danger of your ruining your social career so long as you follow your—other—career under a false name."
Bill glared. "Oh, I guess you'd do the same thing if you got in a tight place."
Mary began to turn pale under the freckles. Bill had startled her without himself being aware of it. He didn't know; he didn't suspect; it was nothing but an offhand and ill-tempered retort. But it awakened in Mary something she had been studiously endeavoring to forget; it had been flung so suddenly at her that it sounded like an accusation.
"Take it from me," he added, "there's many a sanctimonious high-brow in this burg who sports an alias on the side. I've got plenty of company."
Mary was seized with a fit of choking that compelled her to turn her head. She was rapidly becoming confused; she did not dare trust herself to speech. Why, she might even forget her wrong name!
Bill watched her for a moment, then shrugged and yawned.
"Well, I guess I'll call it a day, Miss Norcross. You can give any reason you like for what you did, but I'm going to keep on being much obliged." His voice had taken a more generous tone. "You're all right. Good night."
Mary watched his exit from the library, a curious expression in her eyes. Then suddenly she sat down and began to laugh, very quietly, yet rocking back and forth with the intensity of the attack.
"Oh, what a job I've got!" was the burden of Mary's thought.