“I have done it, God forgive me! But who has not?”
“Not me,” cried Missy candidly. “There's not a bigger liar in this world than me! I'm going to tell you about that directly. I'm so glad you've told a lie or two yourself—it gives me such a leg-up—though I never should have thought it of you, Mr. Teesdale. I've told hundreds since I've known you. Have you told any since you've known me?”
The question was asked with all the inquisitive sympathy of one discovering a comrade in sin. “I mean not counting the ones you've just been telling me,” added Missy when she got no answer, “about your not being shocked, and all the rest of it.”
“That was no falsehood, Missy; that was the truth.”
“All right, then, we'll pass that. Have you told any other lies since I've been here? Just whisper, and I promise I won't let on. I do so want to know.”
“But why, my dear—but why?”
“Because it'll be ever so much easier for me to make my confession when you've made yours.”
“Your confession! What can you have to confess, Missy?” The old man chuckled as he patted her hand.
“More than you're prepared for. But you must fire first. Have you or have you not told a wicked story since I've been staying here?”
Mr. Teesdale cleared his throat and sat upright in his chair.