"My aunt never went as far as you have."
"She would if she appreciated what you have done. When I think of the way you have deceived that dear old woman it makes me want to be an anarchist. Even now she doesn't understand what you've done. She doesn't know that you deliberately ruined everything; she's too innocent to suspect. All your guests know; all the servants know—everybody knows except your poor aunt. But you've imposed on her, you have deceived her, you have lied to her——"
"Oh, hold on there, please."
"Well, you have!" cried Mary. "And you've lied to me."
"How?" he demanded.
"You ask me that! Do I need to remind you? You said you were bringing a friend, an artist. You even lied about his name. And then you had the effrontery to bring into this house a disreputable bruiser——"
"Now, wait a minute," commanded Bill. "I didn't lie about his name. I told you the truth. His name is exactly as I gave it—Antonio Valentino."
"I don't believe a word of it."
"Simply because you're ignorant about a lot of things. Probably you don't know that nearly every wop fighter in New York City goes into the ring under an Irish name. It's done for business reasons mostly. This man's name is Valentino; he was born in Italy. But when he fights it's Kid Whaley. And if you don't choose to believe me, write to any sporting editor and he'll tell you."
But Mary was not to be thrust aside.