“You're devil enough for anything, I know, and can lie as fast as you can talk,” returned Mrs. Bray, in considerable irritation. “If I could believe a word you said! But I can't.”
“No necessity for it,” retorted Pinky, with a careless toss of her head. “If you don't wish to hunt in company, all right. I'll take the game myself.”
“You forget,” said Mrs. Bray, “I can spoil your game.”
“Indeed! how?”
“By blowing the whole thing to Mr.—”
“Mr. who?” asked Pinky, leaning forward eagerly as her companion paused without uttering the name that was on her lips.
“Wouldn't you like to know?” Mrs. Bray gave a low tantalizing laugh.
“I'm not sure that I would, from you. I'm bound to know somehow, and it will be cheapest to find out for myself,” replied Pinky, hiding her real desire, which was to get the clue she sought from Mrs. Bray, and which she alone could give. “As for blowing on me, I wouldn't like anything better. I wish you'd call on Mr. Somebody at once, and tell him I've got the heir of his house and fortune, or on Mrs. Somebody, and tell her I've got her lost baby. Do it, Fan; that's a deary.”
“Suppose I were to do so?” asked Mrs. Bray, repressing the anger that was in her heart, and speaking with some degree of calmness.
“What then?”