CHAPTER X
While Andrew was still patiently waiting in London, a south-bound express swung down the long slope from Shap; past Oxenholme, past Milnthorpe, past Carnforth, out into the green levels of Lancashire. In one corner of a first-class carriage sat Jean Walkingshaw, her eyes smiling approval at that very paper which was to disturb her brother's serenity a few hours later. Her father sat opposite watching her.
"Well, what do you think of it?" he inquired.
"I think it's most amusing and—and—"
"Spirited?"
"Oh, very spirited!" she laughed. "In fact, I think it's a splendid speech."
He seemed gratified.
"Some fellows didn't seem to care for it," he observed.