Her lips parted. Then they closed. Whatever she had been about to say remained unsaid. When she did speak it was to ask concerning a different matter.
“When Uncle Foster was here yesterday did you tell him what you have told me?” she asked.
“No. He had heard this story—that about the fellow, whoever he was, who saw me with Covell—”
“Wait! Don’t you know who he was?”
“Haven’t the least idea. What difference does it make? Somebody saw us; that was enough.”
“And you didn’t tell Uncle Foster?”
“I didn’t tell him anything, except that I should not tell.... Oh, yes, I did, too! I told him something I had been longing to tell him. I told him I knew that he was happy because his plans and schemes to keep me away from you had worked out so well. And I also told him that I had been quite aware of those schemes from the beginning, that he hadn’t fooled me in the least. Yes, and that if he and his tricks had been all I should never have given you up. I told him—and it did me good to tell him. The old— Oh well! why call him names now? He has won as usual.”
“You told him—you told my uncle that he had schemed and planned?... Well?” proudly. “He denied it, of course?”
“Ha!” with a short laugh. “He did not deny it, not a word of it. He admitted that it was true. Seemed to be proud of it, if you must know. He told me in so many words that he had worked to get one of us in Europe and the other here; said he had never intended for a minute that you and I should, as he called it, get ‘too friendly.’ Oh, he made a clean breast of it—if you care to call such dirty business ‘clean.’... Bah!”
He walked to the far end of the room. She remained standing by the chair, her fingers intertwined, looking straight before her.