"No, it isn't all right," contradicted Harry. "It was a low-down thing to do and I was sorry right away. Only you didn't look and so—so I—I didn't call you. I—I wish you had looked. It was all Horace's fault. He said—said—"
"Yes, I guess I know what he said," interrupted Roy. "But supposing what he said is so?"
"I wouldn't care—much," was the answer. "But I know it isn't so! Is it?"
Roy dropped his eyes and hesitated. Then,
"No," he muttered. "It isn't so, Harry."
"I knew it!" she cried triumphantly. "I told him I knew it afterwards! And he said girls weren't proper persons to judge of such things, and I don't see what that's got to do with my knowing—what I know, do you?"
Roy had to acknowledge that he didn't.
"And you're not cross with me, are you?" she demanded anxiously.
"Not a bit," he said.
"That's nice. I don't like folks I like to not like—Oh, dear me! I'm all balled up! Only I mustn't say 'balled up.' I meant that I was—confused. Anyway, I'm going to tell all the boys that it isn't so, that you didn't squeal—I mean tell—on Horace and the others! And I think it was a nasty trick to play on you! Why, you might have caught your death of cold!"