"Billy! You young scoundrel!"
In the same instant he enveloped the intruder with a bearlike embrace.
The young man gazed placidly over Mr. Davidson's head and straight into the eyes of Rosalind Chalmers.
CHAPTER XXIII
UNSCRAMBLING THE MYSTERY
Hot resentment overcame Rosalind—resentment at the boatman's duplicity, at the trick he had played upon her, at her own lack of perception. It was succeeded by a sense of extraordinary humiliation. She felt as if a cross section had been carved out of her life and spread before vulgar eyes upon the slide of an inexorable microscope—for she did not pause to consider that much of what had happened was known only to Sam and herself.
Then came a period of panic. There would be revelations, of course. How far would they go?
Yet, while her mind was in an agony of agitation, she managed to maintain her poise. Steadily, and without wincing, she stared into the face of Billy Kellogg—and waited.
Mr. Davidson stepped back a pace and surveyed his nephew.
"But—when did you get back?" he cried.