“Was that what a friend would have done? Seen me the laughing-stock of that crowd? David knew, and Chester, and Kingsford, and——!”
Betty? Had Betty known?
“I’ve done with him now, though,” he went on fiercely. “He can go hang for all I care. Friend? A nice friend he has proved!” He faced Margaret again and took a step toward her. “Look here! I don’t know what took place between you and John; and I don’t ask. But drop it! Do you hear? I won’t have him making love to my sister. I——”
“Phillip! Be still!”
“I mean what I say,” he went on angrily, his eyes flashing. “He’s a cur! He’s——”
“Phil, dear, you’re angry! Don’t say anything more now, please! For my sake, Phil!” She went to him and put one arm around him and kissed the cheek that strove to draw away. “Wait until to-morrow, Phil, please.”
He gulped; then he drew the hand from his shoulder and turned away.
“All right, Margey,” he answered quietly. “I’m—I’m a little bit—I reckon I’ll go out for awhile.”
He picked his cap from the table and passed out onto the porch. Margaret took up the letter from the hearth, sighed, and then in a passion of rage tore it into bits and hurled it into the flames. Sinking into the chair, she leaned her face in her hands and sat there long, motionless, in the firelight.