"Well, no. At least he—he—. Oh, he was polite and had a nice manner—a quiet voice—"
"But he was different from Mr. Heath—an inferior—one who took orders," interrupted Sylvia.
"I hardly know. I saw very little of him," Marcia replied guardedly.
"But Mr. Heath did tell him what to do. Currier did as he said."
"I suppose so—yes."
"In other words, he is the hands and Mr. Heath the brains of the team."
"How can you, Sylvia?"
Quivering, Marcia shrunk into her chair as if she had been struck.
"Because I must, Marcia—because we must both look this affair in the face. Confess the circumstances are suspicious."
"They seem to be," she owned with reluctance.