" "Norris!" gasped Lady Trafford, trembling violently. ‘Yes, miss. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. Then all the embarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. "Were you present at the time of the robbery?" pursued Jonathan. “We have scarcely mentioned your name.
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