“You’re a liar!” screamed Ray. “Lola isn’t married! You’re a sneaking liar—get out before I throw you out! You poor Frog-chaser—you think everything that’s green lives in a pond! Get out and stay out!”
It was Ella’s appealing glance that made Dick Gordon walk to the door. Turning, his cold gaze rested on Lew Brady.
“There is a big question-mark against your name in the Frog-book, Brady. You watch out!”
Lew shrank under the blow, for blow it was. Had he dared, he would have followed Gordon into the corridor and sought further information. But here his moral courage failed him, and he stood, a pathetic figure, looking wistfully at the door that the visitor had closed behind him.
“For God’s sake let us get some air in the room!” snarled Ray, thrusting open the windows. “That fellow is a pestilence! Married! Trying to get me to believe that!”
Ella had taken up her handbag from the sideboard where she had placed it.
“Going, Ella?”
She nodded.
“Tell father . . . I’ll write anyway. Talk to him, Ella, and show him where he was wrong.”
She held out her hand.