Corinne laughed scornfully.
“It’s just too absurd to contradict,” she replied. “Uncle Harry made it all up about me just to save his own face.” She turned about and faced her great-aunt. “You know yourself, Aunt Mattie, that if I had stolen that money I wouldn’t pay him four hundred dollars just to buy me some clothes in New York. It’s all out of proportion.”
Miss Grant nodded: she could see the sense to that. A hundred dollars would have been ample commission.
“May I say something?” put in Mary Louise meekly.
“Certainly,” replied Miss Grant.
The girl felt herself trembling as all eyes in the room turned upon her. But she spoke out bravely, disregarding Corinne’s open scorn.
“I believe I can explain why Miss Pearson divided the money evenly with Mr. Harry Grant,” she said. “It was a clever trick, to throw the suspicion on him. Because you know, Miss Grant, if you saw him drive home with a new car, wouldn’t you naturally jump to the conclusion that he had bought it with your money?”
The old lady nodded her head: the idea sounded reasonable to her.
“And as for Miss Pearson’s evening dress and cloak,” continued Mary Louise, “if she didn’t buy them in Riverside, you’d probably never know what she paid for them, or suspect them of being particularly expensive.”
“That’s true, Mary Louise,” agreed Miss Grant. “I’d never dream anybody would spend four hundred dollars for two pieces of finery.”