“I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. ” For a moment or two he did not speak. . But he would die if he continued in this course. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. “Looooo-ceeeeee!!” He yelled, sounding like Desi Arnaz. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield.
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