did not. He said, sternly, "I can't understand you, Azalea. I
don't want to misjudge you, but you must admit, yourself, that you're
making it very hard for me. Why won't you tell me everything? If Uncle
Thorpe disowned you,--cast you off,--or anything like that,--tell me;
I'll take your part,--and I'll defend you."

"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."

Azalea stared at him.

"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