She had recovered herself. "Who told you about Barry Lapelle and me?" she demanded.
"You mean about last night's adventure?" he countered, a trifle maliciously.
She coloured. "I suppose some one has—Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I sha'n't ask you to betray the sneak who—"
"Tut, tut, my dear Viola! You must not—"
"Don't call me your dear Viola!"
"Well, then, my dear sister,—surely you cannot expect me to address you as Miss Gwyn?" in mild surprise.
"Just plain Viola, if you must have a name for me."
"That's better," said he, approvingly.
"Whoever told you was a sneak," she said, wrathfully. She turned her face away, but not quickly enough to prevent his seeing her chin quiver slightly.
"At any rate, it was not your mother," he said. "I have Striker's permission to expose what you call his treachery. He thought it was his duty to tell me under the circumstances. And while I am about it, I may as well say that I think you conspired to take a pretty mean advantage of those good and faithful friends. You deceived them in a most outrageous manner. It wasn't very thoughtful or generous of you, Viola. You might have got them into very serious trouble with your mother,—who, I understand, holds the mortgage on their little farm and could make it extremely unpleasant for them if she felt so inclined."