“Couldn’t thee write thy father, then?”
“Well, it would be easier,” she admitted. “Wally is a good sort, and understands more.”
“Write to him then. That will do, I’m sure.”
“All right. But nobody writes me letters. I never get any.”
“To whom does thee write in the letter hour, my dear?”
Isabelle was on her guard at once.
“Oh, to somebody I like.”
“Some friend of thine?”
“Um—yes.”
“Couldn’t thee tell me about this friend? Mr. Benjamin and I are especially interested in the friends of our girls. I have never seen thee post thy letters.”