"Why, mumsey, you needn't look so frightened. They won't bite you. There aren't any of those things alive, dear!"
"No, of course not. But I'm—I'm sure I—I wouldn't be able to appreciate them at all."
"But in London you were trying to learn to be interested in such things," persisted Betty, still earnestly. "Don't you know? You said you wanted to learn to like them, and to appreciate them."
"Yes, I know. But I'm sure I wouldn't like to—to trouble Mr. Denby—here," stammered the mother, her face still very white.
CHAPTER XXIII
"THE PLOT THICKENS"
It was shortly before Christmas that Frank Gleason ran up to Dalton. He went first to see Burke Denby.
Burke greeted him with hearty cordiality.
"Hullo, Gleason! Good—you're just in time for dinner. But where's your bag? You aren't going back to-night!"