"Everybody loves my faults," said Indiana, impatiently. "That's the trouble with me. If I could only find some one who would hate them and try to cure them."
"I couldn't be harsh to you, Indy. If you killed me, I'd die blessing you. You nearly did for me once—"
"What!"
"Oh, it wasn't your fault—you were too young to know better."
Indiana sprang from the hammock. "Glen, what wasn't my fault?" she demanded, fiercely. "What did I do? You shall tell me!"
"All right. But don't get in a temper. I swore I'd never throw it up to you."
"Don't tease me, Glen," said Indiana, imploringly, "tell me—quickly."
Glen pushed his hair back from his right temple. "Do you see that?"
"Yes," uttered Indiana, in a frightened voice, "a deep, white scar."
"You did that." She recoiled, looking at it in horror. "You threw a pair of scissors at me—in one of your tantrums."