"And there's going to be another health drunk—Molly's. Molly Babbitts, the best friend that any man and woman ever had, the person who did the biggest thing in the whole Harland case."
He wasn't going to tell—he knew enough for that, he knew that Babbitts wasn't on, but he wanted me to understand. I looked at their faces, Jack's with its grateful message, and Carol's saying the same, and Babbitts' red with pride and joy. Then I couldn't bear it. Feeling queer and weak, I sat dumb, not touching my glass, looking at the plate.
"Why, Mollie," said Babbitts surprised, "aren't you going to answer?"
"No," I said suddenly, "not till I've told something first."
I guess I looked about as cheerful as the skeletons they used to have at feasts in foreign countries. Anyway I saw them all amazed, their eyes fixed staring on me. I stiffened up and set both hands hard on the edge of the table, and looked at Carol. My lips were so shaky I could hardly get out the words:
"You're all wrong—you've made a mistake. I didn't do it for you the way you think—I—I—" I turned to Jack and the tears began to spill out of my eyes, "I did it for him."
"Me?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, you. We swore to be friends once and that's what I am. I saw you were going to tell her. I thought it would ruin you and I knew I couldn't stop you—so—so—as I didn't matter—I did it myself before you could."
He pushed back his chair all stirred and pale. Carol, with a catch of her breath, said my name—just "Molly," nothing more. But Babbitts, who didn't know where he was at, cried out:
"Did what? For Heaven's sake what's it all about?"