“Your adorer?” he half-whispered.
“A coward!” she said, slowly, distinctly.
“Coward?” he gasped, unwilling to believe his ears. “What—I know I may deserve the word now, but—but this afternoon? What do you mean?”
“Your memory is very short.”
“Don't speak in riddles, Dorothy,” he cried.
“You know how I loathe a coward, and I thought you were a brave man. When I heard—when I was told—O, it does not seem possible that you could be so craven.”
“Tell me what you have heard,” he said, calmly, divining the truth.
“Why did you let Dickey Savage fight for you last night? Where was your manhood? Why did you slink away from Prince Ravorelli this morning?” she said, intensely.
“Who has told you all this?” he demanded.
“No matter who has told me. You did play the part of a coward. What else can you call it?”