"Didn't I see you here last night with Pendleton?" he asked abruptly.
"I really don't know," she replied. "Perhaps, I was—I don't remember."
"I'm sure of it," said he—"the light flared out suddenly from this window and showered you with its brightness."
He looked at her with a reminiscent smile—and she understood. He had seen Pendleton kiss her—and he meant to kiss her himself. Well, at least, she knew now how to handle him.
"It was not I," she replied carelessly, as she turned into the house, "I was not on this end of the piazza last evening."
He smiled again, tolerantly.
"Perhaps I was mistaken," he answered.