Suzanne smiled an April smile at him.
"Man to man, you are a darling, Phil Lorrimer. I'd let you help me if I'd let any one but I won't. My pride's all I have left, and I'm going to hang on to that like grim death. Don't you worry. I know what I can do and I'm going to do it."
"What?" Phil was somewhat dubious about the sudden flush on Suzanne's cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes.
She shook her head, mischief written in every line of her thin, pretty, piquant face.
"'Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
Till you applaud the deed,'"
she quoted gayly. "It is much better you shouldn't know. I'm not even going to tell Barb. She will only be informed that I am out of town with friends. My esteemed parents and dear Roger will hear the same. Your job is to sit tight and know nothing. You won't be responsible. Your skirts--I mean your coat-tails---will be entirely clear."
"Suzanne, I've half a mind to telegraph your father this minute--or Roger. Maybe it would be better to summon Roger." He eyed her sternly.
Suzanne giggled wickedly.
"You will do nothing of the sort, dear Dumb as the Grave. I have your sacred oath not to peach."
"Let me off, Suzanne," he begged. "Honest, I'm worried about you. You look wild."