"You're an angel," said Skippy hoarsely. "I'll never, never forget that. That was white of you, awfully white!"
"You didn't detherve it," repeated Miss Tupper with as much severity as can accompany the slightest of lisps and the eyes of a gazelle.
"Don't be hard on a fellow," said Skippy miserably.
"It was outwageous. You know, you didn't know us."
How was he to lie to his saviour and benefactor and yet how betray a chum?
"It did look bad," he said, momentarily at loss, "but honest, now, Snorky's intentions were nothing but honorable. Honest they were."
"I with I could believe it," said Miss Jennie sadly.
"I say, you must think I'm an awful rum sort," said Skippy, on whom the velvety eyes against the distant moon ripple on the water and the nearby night fragrance of the honeysuckle was beginning to work its charm. "Well, I suppose I am—"
"Oh no."
"A rotten good-for-nothing lot," said Skippy gloomily, falling easily into the new part and surprised to find what peculiar pleasure could be extracted from the rôle of the wayward.