"Poorer, uncle! His father—my grandfather, that is—was a clergyman with barely enough to live on, and his uncle was a Roman Catholic priest. Both of them have been dead for years."
"And your father—well, I know there was nothing there," Mr. Bullsom remarked, thoughtfully.
"You cabled out the money to bring me home," Mary reminded him.
"Well, well!" Mr. Bullsom declared. "You must go and see these chaps.
There's no harm in that, at any rate. We must all have that trip to
London. I expect Brooks will be wanting to go and see Henslow. We'll
have to give that chap what for, I know."
Selina sailed into the room in a salmon-coloured wrapper, which should long ago have been relegated to the bath-room. She pecked her father on the cheek and nodded to Mary.
"Don't you see Mr. Brooks, dear?" her father remarked, with a twinkle in his eye and something very much like a wink to Mary.
Selina screamed, and looked fearfully around the room.
"What do you mean, papa?" she exclaimed. "There is no one here."
"Serve you right if there had been," Mr. Bullsom declared, gruffly.
"A pretty state to come down in the morning at past nine o'clock."
Selina tossed her head.