“That what?” I cried. “Tell me quickly, Gwen! Conceal nothing from me!”
“Well, that Mabel one morning received a note delivered by express messenger, and I asked her whom it was from. She seemed unusually flurried, and told me that it was from Professor Greer.”
“But she never knew him!” I gasped. “What day was that?”
“The day before you returned from Glasgow.”
“The same day on which she received that telegram from Italy purporting to be signed by me!”
I exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me this before, Gwen?”
“Mabel’s affairs have nothing to do with me. I am not interested in her correspondents, Harry,” she replied. “Surely it is not my place to carry tales to you, is it?”
“No; pardon me,” I said, hastening to excuse myself, “but in this affair the truth must be told.”
“Then why haven’t you told it to me?” asked the girl. “Why are you so carefully hiding other facts?”
“Because they are of concern only to myself—a secret which is mine, and mine alone.”