“Well, it wasn’t a piece of wood,” said Fanny.
“What can you mean?” asked Sibyl. She stood perfectly still, staring at her companion. Then she burst into a sort of frightened laugh. “But it was a piece of wood, really,” she added. “You are mistaken, Fanny. Of course you know a great deal, but even you can’t know more than I have proved by my own eyesight. It looked in the distance like a small brown piece of wood; and I asked Betty if it was, and she admitted it.”
“Just like her! just like her!” said Fanny.
“Well, then, the very next day,” continued Sibyl, “several girls and I went to the old stump and poked and poked, and found it; so, you see——”
“I don’t see,” replied Fanny. “And now, if you will allow me, Sibyl, and if you won’t chatter quite so fast, I will tell you what I really do know about this matter. I don’t think for a single moment—in fact, I am certain—that Betty Vivian did not trouble herself to poke amongst withered leaves in the stump of the old oak-tree in order to produce a piece of sodden wood. There was something else; and when you asked her if it was a piece of wood she told you—remember, Sibyl, this is in absolute confidence—an untruth. Oh, I am trying to put it mildly; but I must mention the fact—Betty told you an untruth. Did you observe, or did you not, that she was excited and looked slightly annoyed when you suddenly called to her and ran up to her side?”
“I—yes, I think she did look a little put out; but then she is very proud, is Betty, and I am not her special friend, although I love her so hard,” replied Sibyl.
“She walked with you afterwards, did she not?”
“Yes.”
“She went towards the house with you?”