Again Carney nodded. Then he asked, "Why, Jeanette?"
"I don't quite know," she answered wearily. "Seth's moral fibre—if he has any—is becoming like a worn-out spring in a clock." Then her dark eyes searched Carney's placid gray eyes, and she asked, "Were you playing?"
"Yes."
The girl drew her hand across her eyes as if she were groping, not for ideas, but for vocal vehicle. "And you left before the game was over—why?"
"Tired."
Jeanette put her hand on Carney's that was lying on the table. "Was Seth cheating?"
"Why do you ask that, Jeanette?"
"I'll tell you. He's been playing by himself in his room for two or three days. He's got a pack of cards that I think are crooked."
"What is this Shipley like, Jeanette? Do you suppose that he brought Seth those cards?"
"I don't know," the girl answered; "I don't like him. He and Seth have played together once or twice."