I warned Mr. Wagstaff against Paul."
"Warned him? Why?" Hazel neglected the question entirely. The
bluntness of it took her by surprise. Frank speech was not a
characteristic of Vesta Lorimer's set.
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
"He is my brother, but that doesn't veil my eyes," she said coolly.
"Paul is too crooked to lie straight in bed. I'm glad Mr. Wagstaff
brought the lot of them up with a round turn--which he seems to have
done. If he had used a club instead of his fists it would have been
only their deserts. I suppose the fuss quite upset you?"
"It did," Hazel admitted grudgingly. "It did more than upset me."
"I thought as much," Vesta said slowly. "It made you inflict an
undeserved hurt on a man who should have had better treatment at your
hands; not only because he loves you, but because he is one of the few
men who deserve the best that you or any woman can give."
Hazel straightened up angrily.
"Where do you get your astonishing information, pray?" she asked hotly.
"And where do you get your authority to say such things to me?"
Vesta tucked back a vagrant strand of her tawny hair. Her blue eyes
snapped, and a red spot glowed on each smooth, fair cheek.
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