"If you don't let me go, I
will call for M. Joyselle. And if he doesn't hear me, someone else will.
Do you understand?"
He did not answer, and looking at him carefully for a moment she was for
the first time terrified. His eyes were not those of a sane man.
"Gerald, don't be nasty," she urged, gently. "Surely you must see that
there is no harm in my coming to see Joyselle! In a month or two he will
be my father-in-law."
He sneered. "Ah, bah! I saw your face as you passed the last window. It
was not the face of a girl coming from her future father-in-law. It was
the face----"
Before he could finish a door opened on the floor above and two children
came downstairs, chattering gaily to each other. Brigit turned to the
elder, a boy of six, dressed in a quaintly cut green blouse.
"Is your papa at home, my dear?" she asked.
The child laughed. "My papa is dead," he answered cheerfully, "but Uncle
Chris is there."
Brigit looked at Carron for a moment, and then went downstairs with her
hand on the little boy's shoulder. "And what is your name?" she asked.
"I'm Bob Seymour, and this is Patty. Uncle Chris has been painting us.
He gives us a shilling apiece each time.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204