“You are quite wrong about Richard and Phœbe. They are simply good friends,” she said.
“How do you know?” he cried. “I’ve seen ’em together and he talks soft to her an’——” He began to work himself into a dangerous mood.
“I know what I’m talking about, Walter,” she increased the firmness of her tone. “Richard is not interested in Phœbe at all, in the way you mean.”
“Got to show me,” he muttered.
“I can prove it.”
“Aw! He’d lie quick enough.”
“Do you think I would lie to you, Walter?”
No; Walter did not think so. Jerry always spoke the truth. Jerry was all right.
“Well, then,” she said, nerving herself for the statement, “Richard is not interested in Phœbe Norris; he—he is interested in me.”
The effect upon Walter was all that she had expected. He softened up suddenly, grew exultant at the turn which his clogged mind had not guessed, but which, all at once, seemed perfectly apparent.