"But it's not home," she contradicted, "and won't be home till you tell me why you are blushing like a peony."
"Nanty," I cried, "you are too bad."
"Marguerite, why are you looking so guilty and ashamed?"
"I'm not," I said stoutly.
"You are."
"Why should I look ashamed?"
"That's what I want to get at. I ask you the simplest question, upon which your countenance becomes that of a criminal run to earth."
"Pictorial exaggeration," I said lightly. "And, Nanty, I'm catching cold. Remember it is only March."
"Take this rug," she replied coolly. "I shall not let you go till you give me your reason for wishing to appear in print."
"But I don't," I said with heat.