"Yuss," said Mrs. Vence with relish, "your dear par murdered him sure enough."
[CHAPTER XXI.]
"That's a lie," said Claudia, calmly, and without rising.
Mrs. Vence spluttered and shook with wrath, in her rage it seemed as though she were about to rise up and denounce her visitor. But a fit of coughing prevented her, and by the time it was over she felt too weak to scold. "It's the truth," she muttered sulkily, and took a wineglassful of medicine.
"Prove it!"
Claudia, who had entered the room anxious and perturbed, was now quite calm in asking questions.
Mrs. Vence was patently surprised to see how quietly the girl took the dreadful charge. "You don't seem much upset!" she croaked. "I thought you loved that par of yours, as a gel should."
"I do love my father," was Miss Lemby's steady reply, "and for that reason I decline to believe what you say."
"Then why come here to worrit me?" gasped the old woman, crossly. "Ain't I got enuff to put up with at my age without silly gels coming to tell me as I'm a liar. I can't say nothin' else."
"You can; you must. My father explained his movements at the inquest, and his testimony was accepted as exonerating him. And let me remind you. Mrs. Vence, that at the inquest you brought no charge against him."