CHAPTER X.
INQUIRIES 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.
"Yes--no,--oh, a lot of letters." "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 ?" "Oh, yes, it was--" "Stop, Azalea! Don't add to your list of falsehoods! You wrote that letter yourself on my typewriter, in my library.