“Oh, nothing. . . . He told me that the only way to save you was for me to marry him.”
“Did he?” said Miss Girton harshly. “The swine!”
“Aunt Agatha!”
“You make me sick! He is a swine—why shouldn’t I say so? And with an adjective, if I choose. Why didn’t you tell him so yourself? What did you say?”
“I——” Patricia pulled herself up. The Saint’s volcanic arrival had ended the discussion somewhat abruptly. “I didn’t know what to say,” answered Patricia truthfully.
Miss Girton glowered down at the girl.
“And then he got fresh?”
“Not—not exactly. You see——”
“Then who did?”
Patricia covered her eyes.