“Oh, Imogene!” she cried, really indignant. “You know that isn’t true! Virginia didn’t propose it at all! She was just telling a story! You don’t mean you’d do it yourself, and then lay the blame on Virginia!”
Imogene saw that she had made a mistake.
“Who’s talking about blaming anybody? I guess I’m willing to take the blame for my own actions. Don’t get so excited! I didn’t exactly mean she proposed it. I just meant that I’d never have thought of such a good plan if it hadn’t been for her.”
Dorothy was not convinced. She never felt quite sure of Imogene, though she couldn’t seem to help being fascinated by her.
“You see,” she said hesitatingly, “if you had meant that Virginia suggested it, I’d think—”
“Well, think what?”
“I’d think that—? that maybe you laughed on purpose that night down-stairs.”
Imogene shrugged her shoulders, and looked, for her, rather uncomfortable.
“Isn’t any one allowed to laugh, if anything strikes her funny? You’re suspicious, Dorothy!”
But quarreling would not do if Dorothy’s help were to be relied upon. Besides, the subject was distasteful, not to say dangerous. Imogene changed it hurriedly, and, by the time they reached The Hermitage, the plan had once more assumed at least an honest aspect, and Dorothy was once more laughing at the thought of the drenched Katrina.