“O-oh, I see! But—please!—that telegram from Charlie to him”—she indicated Fessenden. “I supposed—some one—had sent that—to put me off the track.”
“It wasn’t sent from White Cottage.”
“Then it was real?”
“I know nothing about it,” returned the girl icily.
Miss Yarnell wheeled her horse. “It was real! And I’ve been wasting time—wasting time!” Going helter-skelter, she was out of sight before Fessenden had time to resume his seat in the carriage.
“Whew!” he said, as they resumed their jog-trot pace. “She is a queer fish! But, Betty, why tell a tarradiddle, even to get rid of her?”
“I didn’t.”
“I mean about the telegram you sent me.”
“I didn’t send you one.”
“What! One came—signed by Charles Danton, too, just as we arranged last night.”