"But Azalea is a mere girl, and a headstrong, ignorant one, at that. She is in our care, and it is our duty to know with whom she associates. Who were those people?"
"Seriously, Farnsworth, I can't tell you. Miss Thorpe asked me definitely not to do so, and I gave her my promise. You must see,--as man to man,--I _can't_ tell you."
"I see your point, and I quite agree, in a general way. But, Gale, this is a--well, a crisis. I'm investigating a mystery and I must _know_ who those people are."
"Then you surely can't expect me to! After I promised to keep her secret!"
"Well, tell me one thing; is the name Smith?"
"Oh, people of--why, hang it, man,--I don't know what to say to you! I refuse to betray Miss Thorpe's confidence, and so I don't know how much I ought to tell you."
"Are they people I would receive in my home?"
"Scarcely! If you mean, are they your social equals, they are not!"
"Then, I ought to know about them, and forbid Azalea their acquaintance."
"Oh, Miss Thorpe doesn't know them socially!" said Gale, and then he said a quick "good-bye" and hung up his receiver.
The next day Farnsworth made an occasion to see Azalea alone.
"Come for a stroll in the rose garden," he said to her as they left the breakfast table.
"But aren't you in a hurry to go to town?" she objected.
"No, I'm not. Come along, Zaly, I want to talk to you."
Azalea looked embarrassed. She had on a trim linen street suit, and had an air of alertness as if about to start on a trip of some sort.
"I was--I was just going for a walk," she said, hesitatingly.
"All right, I'll walk with you. Let's make it a long hike."
"Oh,--I'd love to, Cousin William,--really,--but I--I've a lot to do in my room, this morning."
"A lot to do! What do you mean? Does Patty make you take care of your room?"
"Oh, not that sort of work. I've got to--to--write letters."
"To your father?" Bill's look was significant.
"Look here, Azalea, you come out with me for a few minutes,--I won't keep you long." Farnsworth took her arm, and led her gently down the verandah steps and along a garden path.
"Now, my child," he said most kindly, "tell me why you pretended that letter was from your father, when it was not?"
"Stop, Azalea! Don't add to your list of falsehoods! You wrote that letter yourself on my typewriter, in my library. _Why_ did you do it?"