"Jean," he said in a milder voice, "hadn't we better let up on the girl for a bit—until that lunatic doctor affair has blown over?"
She reached out and took a gold case from his waistcoat pocket, extracted a cigarette and replaced the case before she spoke.
"We can't afford to 'let up' as you call it, for a single hour. Do you realise that any day her lawyer may persuade her to make a will leaving her money to a—a home for cats, or something equally untouchable? If there was no Jack Glover we could afford to wait months. And I'm less troubled about him than I am about the man Jaggs. Father, you will be glad to learn that I am almost afraid of that freakish old man."
"Neither of them are here—" he began.
"Exactly," said Jean, "neither are here—Lydia had a telegram from him just before dinner asking if he could come to see her next week."
At this moment Lydia returned and Jean Briggerland eyed her critically.
"My dear, you look lovely," she said and kissed her.
Mr. Briggerland's nose wrinkled, as it always did when his daughter shocked him.