She paused again.
“Yes, go on,” he urged.
“We were together almost every evening.”
“Billy?” he demanded, with a savageness that startled her.
“Yes, of course, Billy. We were with each other so much... If I had only known... There was no one to tell me... I was so young—”
Her lips parted as though to speak further, and she regarded him anxiously.
“The scoundrel!”
With the explosion Ned Bashford was on his feet, no longer a tired Greek, but a violently angry young man.
“Billy is not a scoundrel; he is a good man,” Loretta defended, with a firmness that surprised Bashford.
“I suppose you'll be telling me next that it was all your fault,” he said sarcastically.