“You mean to insinuate that my son is a criminal?” she cried, with mock rage, drawing herself up, and acting her part very badly.
“If you say those checks were not altered by you, there can be little doubt of the identity of the guilty person.”
“My son is dead. How dare you bring such a charge against him. I refuse to listen to you, or to discuss money matters at such a time. My father must pay the money.”
“He refuses, absolutely. And he says he will 132 prosecute the offender, even if the forger be his own child.”
“He has the wickedness and audacity to suggest that I—?”
“I merely repeat his words.”
She rang the bell, sweeping across the room in her haughtiest manner, and drawing herself up to her full height. The summons was answered instantly.
“Show this gentleman to the door.”
“Madam, I will convey the result of this interview to Mr. Ormsby.”
The old man bowed himself out with a dignity that was more real than hers, and it had, as well, a touch of contempt in it.