"You know perfectly well," flashed Joyce petulantly. "I'm taking him because I must."
"Like a bad-tasting dose of medicine?"
Her friend nodded. "I can't let him go. I just can't. Jack Kilmeny ought to see that."
"Oh, he sees it, but you can't blame him for being bitter."
At the recollection of his impudence anger flared up in Joyce.
"Let him be as bitter as he pleases, then. I happen to know something he would give a good deal to learn. Mr. Jack Kilmeny is going to get into trouble this very night. They've laid a plot——"
She stopped, warned by the tense stillness of Moya.
"Yes?" asked the Irish girl.
"Oh, well! It doesn't matter."
"Who has laid a plot?"