So it was that thought that was tickling her! Well, by Jove, I had her there, for I had heard the judge mention her name in full. I would surprise her!
"Oh, don't I?" I exclaimed, winking as I polished my glass. "Well, how about Frances Leslie Billings?" I let her have it slowly, distinctly, and with yet a note of triumph I could not altogether hide. And then remorseful for her amazed expression, I explained frankly: "Got it from your father this morning, don't you know, during our long talk about you in the library."
"Wh—"
Then she swallowed and her face fell perfectly blank. By Jove, I could have kicked myself for a jolly ass for breaking it to her so raw! Of course, she would know that if her father talked of her, it would be nothing for me to hear that was true or kind—nothing she could wish might be said to the man she loved.
I hastened to reassure her:
"But I don't believe a dashed word of anything he said about you"—I spoke hotly—"and I don't care a jolly hang for what the others said, either—so there you are!"
"Oh, you don't?" Could tell how I had touched her by her expression, don't you know; and she fell to looking at me the queerest way. "And would you mind telling me who the 'others' are?"
I eyed her gloomily, sympathetically. As if she didn't know already!
"Well—oh, dash it, my mind has been filled with—er—just anything!" I began cautiously.
"I know,"—she murmured it as if to herself—"one can see that!" And she bit her lip.