“Her affair? With whom?” asked Janice, choking suddenly, but looking at him squarely.
“Jim Brainard, a college friend of mine. I don’t know that it pays for an outsider to interfere in such matters. But Jim is a good fellow and he is dreadfully fond of Annette, and I thought I might help him. She likes him, too; but she’s obstinate, likes applause and the attentions of a whole raft of fellows. So they quarreled just before she came here to Polktown.
“I believe that’s what has made her act so recklessly and meanly. Really, she is not as bad as she has painted herself. She could never make Polktown people believe in her good qualities now, I fear; but she is going down to New York next week, and she’ll probably stay there. I know that she is going simply because Jim has returned from a long business trip that he took for his firm.
“They’ll meet,” concluded Nelson, laughing, “and I have faith that they will not punish themselves any longer by disagreeing.”
Janice turned to him suddenly, her old frank self. “Tell me,” she demanded, “didn’t you care at all for Annette?”
“I—should—hope—not!” he gasped. “Why, Janice, I—I——”
“Why did you ask to see her when you were sick?” she continued.
“I didn’t!”
“You did! I was—was there when you asked for her.”
“Well, I was out of my head, wasn’t I?” returned the school teacher, grimly. “I must have been to want to see Annette Bowman. It was another person altogether that I wished to see.”