"Good Lord!" he groaned. "Don't talk like the ingénue in a melodrama. Let me see why the Whitneys think so much of you. You must have some intelligence—give me a sample of it."
That settled it.
"Take a seat," I said. "You make me nervous staring at me like the lion in the menagerie at the fat child."
He sat down and I told him—the whole business, what she had said, what they had thought—everything. When I'd finished he rose up and, with his hands burrowed deep in his pockets, began pacing up and down the balcony. I didn't give a peep, watching him cautious from under my eyelids.
After a bit he said in a low voice:
"Preposterous—crazy! She had no more to do with it than you have."
"They think different."
"I've gathered that. And Price had nothing to do with it either."
It was all very well for him to stand by her, but to sweep Price off the map! I couldn't sit still and let him rave on.
"Price hadn't? Take another guess. Price is the mainspring of it."