The time for revelation had come. Susan was a little breathless.
"I heard people whispering," she said.
The hands came to a stop. But the knitter continued to hold them in the same position, a suspended, waiting expectancy in their attitude.
"Whispering?" she said. "Who was it?"
"Oh, Lucy, you know."
There was a pause. Then Lucy dropped her knitting and, raising her head, looked at the anxious face opposite. Her eyes were quiet and steady, but their look was changed from its usual frankness by a new defiance, hard and wary.
"No, I don't know. How should I?"
"Why, why"—Susan now was not only breathless but pleading—"it was you."
"Who was me?"
"The woman—Lucy don't look at me like that, as if you didn't understand. I saw you, you and Zavier, wrapped in the blanket. You walked out into the moonlight and I saw."