"Oh, Cousin William," she said, smilingly, "don't be hard on me. I'm
only a wild Western girl, I know, but I'm--I'm your cousin and I claim
your--your--"
Azalea didn't quite know what she _was_ claiming, but as it was really a
cessation of the interview that she most desired, she turned on her heel
and walked rapidly toward the house.
"Hold on!" cried Farnsworth, "not so fast, Zaly. Before you leave me,
listen to this. I am not at all satisfied with what you have told
me,--or, rather, what you have refused to tell me,--and I am going to
write to your father, and ask him why he doesn't write to you."
Azalea stood still, facing him, and her face turned white.
"Oh, no!" she cried, in a tone of dismay, "you _mustn't_ do that!"
"But I will. There's no reason I shouldn't write to my relative. And I
must get at the mystery of this thing."
"Don't do that, Cousin William, don't, I beg of you!" The girl was
greatly excited now. Her face was drawn with terrified apprehension and
her voice shook with fear.
"Why not?" Farnsworth demanded, and he grasped her arm as she tried to
run away. "I'm going to have this out now, Azalea! _Why_ shan't I write
to Uncle Thorpe?"
"Be--because he isn't--he isn't there--"
"Is he dead?"
"Oh, _no_! He's--he's--gone away on a--a business trip."
"You're making up, Azalea,--I see it in your face. Tell me the truth
about him. Has he married again?"
"No,--oh, no.
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