CHAPTER XXVI
FLORA
In the doorway stood the butler, looking rather pale. With him was a woman—one of the angular sort, you know, and whom I judged to be the housekeeper.
She wasn't pale! No, by Jove, she was fiery red, even to her hair; and red, too, the anvil sparks that were snapping from her eyes. She marched right in, followed by Wilkes, who carefully closed the door—then stood discreetly aloof. Pantingly, she faced the judge, who was staring at her in amazement.
"Why, Miss Warfield," he began, "what—"
"Judge Billings!" she exploded. And, by Jove, it was like the blast from a mighty bellows! "It's about Mr. Jack!"
The judge's face flushed apprehensively.
"Jack—about Jack?" he repeated. "Is he—er—worse?"
"Worse?" The bellows inflated sharply. "Worse is just it—it's the shock of finding out things I never even suspected!" She whirled upon the butler.