"At Alice Clark's Five Hundred with Lyd——" the girl was beginning innocently. He cut her short with an impatient shake of the head.
"I don't mean yesterday! Where were you on Monday?"
"Monday? Why, Mama and I walked down to Bonestell's."
"Yes, we did, Pa! Yes, we did!" quavered Mrs. Monroe. "Oh, Pa, WHAT IS IT?"
"And then what did you do?" he pursued blackly, turning to his wife.
"Why—why, Martie said she was going to go over to Pittsville and back, just for the ride—just to stay on the trolley, Pa!" explained his wife.
"Martie," thundered her father, "when you went to Pittsville you saw your sister, didn't you?"
Martie's head was held erect. She was badly frightened, but conscious through all her fear that there was a certain satisfaction in having the blow fall at last.
"Yes, sir," she gulped; she wet her lips. "Yes, sir," she said again.
"You admit it?" said Malcolm, his eyes narrowing.