“They’re stuffing you with lies—because THEY don’t like it. He’ll be tender and true,” Delia glared.
“When THEY hate me?—Never!” And Francie shook her head slowly, still with her smile of softness. “That’s what he cared for most—to make them like me.”
“And isn’t he a gentleman, I should like to know?” asked Delia.
“Yes, and that’s why I won’t marry him—if I’ve injured him.”
“Shucks! he has seen the papers over there. You wait till he comes,” Mr. Dosson enjoined, passing out of the room.
The girls remained there together and after a moment Delia resumed. “Well, he has got to fix it—that’s one thing I can tell you.”
“Who has got to fix it?”
“Why that villainous man. He has got to publish another piece saying it’s all false or all a mistake.”
“Yes, you’d better make him,” said Francie with a weak laugh. “You’d better go after him—down to Nice.”
“You don’t mean to say he’s gone down to Nice?”