“Hh! And what about Brock?” growled the doctor.
Churchill thrust his hands into his pockets and smiled back into the frowning face of his uncle.
“That’s where you have me,” he answered coolly. “I have been watching the two of them, all day long, and I’ll be sanctified if I can tell you now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Four days after Churchill took his departure from Quebec and its Maple Leaf, Brock came striding into the dining-room, his head erect, his gray eyes shining.
“Miss Howard, you are going for a walk, this afternoon,” he said, as he drew back his chair.
“How do you know?”
“Because I am counting on you. Have you anything else to do?”
“I was going to the library,” she suggested. “The new magazines are just in.”
“Let them wait,” he said coolly. “It is too fine a day to be wasted over a fire and a book. I’ll not only show you a new picture; but I promise to tell you a better story than any that ever was written into a magazine.”