Iris cried out something in a very jeering voice. Summer pretended she did not hear.
“What is that?” cried her sister, excitedly.
“Oh, I know who wrote Summer’s love-letters to her.”
“Who did?”
“She wrote them herself.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I did not!”
“You did, for your cousin told me so.”
“Oh, the wicked little fiend!”