"Never mind, Vicky," put in Sophy, catching Miss Parsh's arm. She saw that Alan was growing impatient. "Come back home, and we will send Joe on to the inn. Come, you look quite upset."
"And I am upset," wailed the poor woman. "I ran all the way to tell you that Joseph had returned--like a thief in the night," she added. "Oh, dear me! and I'm so hot and untidy. I don't like these dreadful things!" Miss Vicky suddenly caught sight of herself in an adjacent mirror, and made a hasty attempt to arrange her disordered dress. "Oh, what a spectacle for a genteel gentlewoman to present! A glass of wine, Mr. Phelps, I beg of you."
The Rector poured out the wine in silence, then turned to Alan.
"Shall I come with you!"
"No, sir. Joe and I are quite able to deal with this brace of blackguards."
"Remember that Lestrange is a dangerous man, Alan."
"So am I," retorted the other grimly. "If I happen to find a whip handy, I don't know what I might be tempted to do."
"But if Joe declares that Lestrange is Sophy's father?"
"He is not my father!" cried Sophy. "His story is a lie! I am the daughter of Richard Marlow."
"Sophia! This man--your father!" wailed Miss Vicky. "Oh dear, what is all this?"