. . .h, well, if they insist, we’ll go away again, and let them have it out comfortably. Queer thing, for Daughter and Dad to make a habit of scrapping!”

[43]

“I take Mrs Varian’s statements with a grain of salt,” said Claire, sagely. “She’s not awfully well balanced, that woman, and I doubt if Betty and her father are half as black as they’re painted. Shall we ring the bell or walk right in?”

But this question needed no answer, for as they mounted the steps of the verandah and neared the open front door, they were confronted by the sight of Mr Frederick Varian sprawled at full length on the floor of the hall.

“Oh, heavens, what is the matter?” cried Claire; “the man has had a stroke or something!”

Landon went nearer, and with a grave face, stooped down to the prostrate figure.

“Claire,” he whispered, looking up at her with a white face, “Clai. . . Read More