"A twinge of gout?"
"Go on."
Narramore scrutinised his friend, who spoke in an unusual tone.
"She sat down, and began to tell me that she was out of work—wanted a place as a bookkeeper, or something of the kind. Could I help her? I asked her why she came to me. She said she had heard of me from someone who used to be employed at our place. That was flattering. I showed my sense of it. Then I asked her name, and she said it was Miss Madeley."
A gust threw rain against the windows. Narramore paused, looking into the fire, and smiling thoughtfully.
CHAPTER XXIII
"You foresee the course of the narrative?"
"Better tell it in detail," muttered Hilliard.
"Why this severe tone? Do you anticipate something that will shock your moral sense? I didn't think you were so straitlaced."