"It is hard, Guardy; I worked my brain silly over that story."
From old Heythorp came a mutter which sounded suspiciously like:
"Rats!"
Heaving a sigh, which conveyed nothing but the generosity of her
breathing apparatus, Mrs. Larne went on:
"You couldn't, I suppose, let me have just one hundred?"
"Not a bob."
She sighed again, her eyes slid round the room; then in her warm voice
she murmured:
"Guardy, you were my dear Philip's father, weren't you? I've never said
anything; but of course you were. He was so like you, and so is Jock."
Nothing moved in old Heythorp's face. No pagan image consulted with
flowers and song and sacrifice could have returned less answer. Her dear
Philip! She had led him the devil of a life, or he was a Dutchman! And
what the deuce made her suddenly trot out the skeleton like this? But
Mrs. Larne's eyes were still wandering.
"What a lovely house! You know, I think you ought to help me, Guardy.
Just imagine if your grandchildren were thrown out into the street!"
The old man grinned. He was not going to deny his relationship--it was
her look-out, not his. But neither was he going to let her rush him.
"And they will be; you couldn't look on and see it.
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