“You know we’re innocent!” she protested.
“Yes, certainly I do!” His tone grew irritable, as though he wished to forget the matter. Then, as if to accomplish this, he reminded her that they were missing the dancing.
But Daisy hesitated, still borne down by the sense of shame and disgrace.
“I don’t feel like dancing, Clyde!”
“Did the possession of an automobile mean so much to you?”
“No, no! It isn’t the loss of the car,” murmured the girl. “It’s my honor! To think that they actually believe that I lied!”
“But you can’t blame Miss Vaughn,” he consoled her. “She doesn’t know you. Oh, Daisy, if I could only help you—”
“You do help me by believing me.”
“Then try to forget it all. Now—will you dance with me?”
But although Daisy consented, and made every effort to put the unfortunate occurrence from her thoughts, she was not very successful, and long before the evening was over she realized that it would be better to give up and go to bed. Perhaps in sleep she could forget her trouble.