"No; she did."
"She? The Follett girl? Why, mother!"
Junia rose. She knew that if her suspicions were correct she would have things to do before she slept.
"Go to bed now, dear; and I'll come to your room and give you the whole story. In the meantime I may have to tell your father."
"You mean to say that he doesn't know?"
"No; not yet. I've been rather hoping that before I told him Bob would—would see his way out of the mess."
"He'll never do that, never in this world—not according to what he's said to me."
"Oh, well, he didn't know everything then that he'll have to know now. But go and say good night to your father; and I'll come up by the time you're in bed."
"Mother, you're amazing!" Edith spoke more in awe than in admiration; but she obeyed orders by going to her father.
She found him still sitting in the chair by the telephone, bowed forward, his elbows on his knees, and his forehead in his hands. When he lifted his haggard eyes toward her she stood still.