Shaynon's having caused me to be spirited away so that he might gain
control of my estate--"
"Wonder what put _that_ into his head!" P. Sybarite broke in with
quickening curiosity.
"He insisted that these stories could only be refuted if I'd come home
for a few days and show myself at this dance to-night. And when I
still hesitated, he threatened--"
"What?" growled the little man.
"That, if I didn't consent, he'd telephone the paper to go ahead and
publish that awful story about the chauffeur."
P. Sybarite caught himself barely in time to shut his teeth upon an
expletive.
"There!" said the girl. "Don't let's talk about it any longer. After
what you've told me.... Well, it's all over now!"
P. Sybarite pondered this in manifest doubt.
"Are you sure?" he queried with his head thoughtfully to one side.
"Am I sure?" she repeated, puzzled. "Rather! I tell you, I've finished
with the Shaynons for good and all. I never liked either of
them--never understood what father saw in old Mr. Shaynon to make him
trust him the way he did. And now, after what has happened ... I shall
stop at the Plaza to-night--they know me there--and telephone for my
things. If Mr. Shaynon objects, I'll see if the law won't relieve me
of his guardianship."
"If you'll take a fool's advice, you'll do that, whether or no. An
uneasy conscience is a fine young traitor to its possessor, as a
rule.
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