"Alas, 'tis too true!" mourned the other. "Come, Ned, try to be entertaining for once; tell us about the pretty Indian girl you were mooning with."
"What did you say?" demanded Edward, freezingly.
"You heard perfectly well what I said."
"What do you mean by it?"
"Oh, I mean the pretty squaw you were spooning with, if that suits you better."
"Gently, Tom," interposed Boulton parenthetically, "don't mention all the meanness you mean."
"I would like to inquire what right you have to mention any of it," exclaimed Edward wrathfully.
"Oh, none—none, whatever. Only it was town talk in Barrie last Fall that you had become infatuated with the sweet little squaw to such an extent that your charming sister, with commendable prudence and foresight, had you put out of harm's way as speedily as possible. There's no accounting for such reports."
"I don't understand it at all," said Edward, with mingled anger and humiliation. "How can people be so silly?"
"Exactly what your slanderers inquired of each other. Impossible to tell what they meant." The young man laughed rather disagreeably as he went off to bed.