"Would you, Cousin William?" Azalea's voice was wistful; "would you defend me?"
The serious tone disturbed Farnsworth more than her anger had done, and he looked at her keenly.
"Yes," he answered, "but only if you are frank and truthful with me. Now, once again, Azalea, what is the _real_ name of the man who called you up yesterday?"
"Brown," said Azalea, and Farnsworth gave a gesture of impatience.
"You're a very poor story-teller!" he exclaimed. "It is not Brown,--or Green,--or Smith. If you had said some less common name, I might have believed you. But your inventiveness doesn't go far enough. When people want to deceive, it's necessary to frame their falsehoods convincingly. If you had said Mersereau or Herncastle,--I might have swallowed it."
"Why would you have thought those names were right?" she asked.
"Because I should have felt sure you didn't invent them. But when you want to conceal a name, and you say Smith or Brown, it doesn't go! Also, you _look_ as if you were fibbing. Why do you do it, Azalea? _Why_?"
"Oh, Cousin William," the girl looked genuinely distressed, "I wish I could tell you all,--I believe I will,--but--no,--I can't--"
Then she shrugged her shoulders, and tossed her head, and her defiant manner returned.
Farnsworth gave up in despair. "Very well, Azalea," he concluded, "I shall write to-day to Uncle Thorpe. I tell you this frankly, for _I_ do not do things on the sly. I'm sorry you take the attitude you do, but while I'm waiting to hear from your father, I shall continue to treat you as a guest and a trusted friend. That is all."
Farnsworth stood aside, and let Azalea pass. The girl went back to the house, in deep thought.
She did not go to her room, or write any letters. She dawdled about, started the phonograph going, read a little in a magazine, and seemed generally distraught.
As she sat in the big, pleasant hall, she saw Farnsworth come in, go to the library and sit at his desk writing. Apparently this was one of the days when he did not go to New York. Patty came by--spoke cheerily to Azalea as she passed her, and then went on to speak to Bill.
The two went out of doors together. Azalea jumped at the chance, and running into the library, glanced over the letters Farnsworth had written. As she had surmised, there was one addressed to Samuel Thorpe, Horner's Corners, Arizona.