“Now,” said he, “tell me all about this ‘Spirit of the Sea’ business.  What underhanded game did you play to get the part away from Patty Fairfield?”

“I didn’t!  She told Guy Martin she wouldn’t take it.”

“Yes; she wrote him a note.  Now, in some way or other, you made her write that note.  How did you do it?”

“Did she tell you I made her write it?”

“No, she didn’t!  She said she wrote it, but she wouldn’t tell me why.”

Daisy’s eyes opened wide.  Then Patty knew the note had been given to Guy in her name, and yet she didn’t denounce Daisy!  Such generosity was almost outside Daisy’s comprehension, and she paused to think it out.  At last she said: 

“Why do you think she wouldn’t tell you?”

“I don’t think, I know!  A man has only to look into Patty Fairfield’s clear, honest eyes to know that she’s incapable of meanness or deceit.  While you,—­forgive me, Daisy, but I’ve known you for years,—­and you are capable of gaining your own ends by underhanded methods.”

“What do you accuse me of?” and Daisy’s air of injured innocence was well assumed.

“I don’t know,” and Bill looked exceedingly perplexed.  “But I do know that in some way you persuaded Patty to give up that part, because you wanted it yourself.”

Daisy drew a long breath of relief.  Then, she thought, he didn’t know, after all, just what she had done, and perhaps she could carry it through yet.

“You’re mistaken,” she said, in a kind way, “Patty did write that note, but she had her own reasons, and she desired, especially, that no one should mention the subject to her.”

“Yes,” said Bill, “and it’s that strange reluctance to having the subject mentioned that makes me suspect your hand in the matter.  Patty refused to discuss it with me, but the look of blank astonishment in her face, when I referred to that note, convinced me there’s a bit of deviltry somewhere.  And I ascribe it to you!”

“You do me an injustice,” and now Daisy’s tone was haughty and distant; “but I cannot resent it.  For Patty’s sake, I too must refuse to discuss this matter.  Think of me as you will,—­I cannot defend myself.”

Daisy’s face grew so sad and martyr-like that generous-hearted Bill was almost convinced of her innocence.

“I say, Daisy,” he began, “if I’m wronging you in this matter, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Oh, never mind, Bill; I’m used to being misunderstood.  But I’ll forgive you, if you’ll promise never to refer to the subject again to me, or to any one else.”

Bill might have promised this, but the too eager gleam in Daisy’s eyes again roused his suspicions.  And just then he saw Patty crossing a bit of lawn near them.

“Whoo-ee!” he called, and as Patty turned, he beckoned for her to come to them.

“What’s wanted?” called Patty, gaily, as she neared the arbour.