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 anger. Only for emotional moments had she been able to imagine Bennet taking sides with her; yet she was not sorry that she had told him. There would have been something unfair—something partaking of the smug—in assuming that her cousin, knowing the same facts as herself, would take an opposite attitude. Her grandfather also was his, and Bennet had the right to learn from her exactly what she had discovered. But Bennet solved his problem simply by refusing to believe her. He was not fool enough to credit such craziness, fool meaning a person who would madly deprive himself of the visible advantages of remaining a grandchild in favor with Lucas Cullen. But it was not sufficient himself to refrain from such madness; if he let Ethel run around with such ideas, anything might happen.

"You've told any of that stuff before, Ethel?" he challenged nervously, when this fear occurred to him.

"I've told you what I said to grandfather and grandmother and Miss Platt."

"I didn't mean them; how about people down here?"

"I've only seen Ira Ruggers and Mrs. Wain."

"Good Lord, you haven't told her?"

"Of course not."

"Oh, I couldn't know what you'd do now. How about this Barney friend of yours; what'll he do? What's he doing now?"

"He stayed there."

"Where?"

"At the Rock or Wheedon's. I haven't heard yet."

"Oh; who was going to write you about him? Grandfather?"

"No," Ethel said, warming throughout. "He was."

"What? He's writing you?"