“No,” she assured him, reflectively; “no, I'm sure he didn't. From what he said, he doesn't know his way about London very well, or anywhere else, for that matter, I should say.”
Thorpe nodded, and put his finger to his forehead with a meaning look. “No—he's a shade off in the upper story,” he told her in a confidential tone. “Still, it's important that I should see him,”—and with only a hasty hand-shake he bustled out of the shop.
By the light of the street lamp opposite, she could see him on the pavement, in the pelting rain, vehemently signalling with his umbrella for a cab.
CHAPTER XV
“We've got a spare room here, haven't we?” Thorpe asked his niece, when she came out to greet him in the hall of their new home in Ovington Square. He spoke with palpable eagerness before even unbuttoning his damp great-coat, or putting off his hat. “I mean it's all in working order ready for use?”
“Why yes, uncle,” Julia answered, after a moment's thought. “Is someone coming?”
“I think so,” he replied, with a grunt of relief. He seemed increasingly pleased with the project he had in mind, as she helped him off with his things. The smile he gave her, when she playfully took his arm to lead him into the adjoining library, was clearly but a part of the satisfied grin with which he was considering some development in his own affairs.
He got into his slippers and into the easy-chair before the bright fire and lit a cigar with a contented air.
“Well, my little girl?” he said, with genial inconsequence, and smiled again at her, where she stood beside the mantel.