‘Me?’ said Sally, starting at the peremptoriness in his tone. ‘Oh—that.’
She put up her hand and felt her burning cheek. ‘Father-in-law,’ she said.
‘Father who?’ asked Jocelyn, astonished out of his gloom.
‘In-law,’ said Sally. ‘’Im in the ’ouse. The old gentleman,’ she explained, as Jocelyn stared in greater and greater astonishment.
Thorpe? The man who was to be his stepfather? But why——?
A flash of something quite, quite horrible darted into his mind. ‘But why,’ he asked, ‘are you so very red? What has that to do——?’
He broke off, and caught hold of her wrist.
‘Daresay it ain’t the gentleman’s day for shavin’,’ suggested Sally.
And on Jocelyn’s flinging away her wrist and jumping up, she watched him running indoors with recovered complacency. ‘Soon be better now,’ she said to herself, pleased; for her father always ran like that too, just when the heaves were going to leave off.