“Drink this!” he said peremptorily.
She lifted the glass slowly, and, without raising her eyes, tasted the liquor and then thrust it aside.
“I know what you think!” she said in a low voice. “It isn’t true—I’ve done nothing—nothing at all!”
His face hardened.
“Why do you say that, Fanchon? I haven’t accused you.”
She turned with a gesture of impatience.
“I know they have—your father and your mother!”
William, who had taken the glass from her, set it down on the table.
“You’re wet through,” he said coldly. “Go up-stairs and change. You can talk afterward—if you want to.”
“I don’t care if I’m wet!” she answered a little wildly. “I’d rather bear wet than your face!”