John looked at me lazily, still smoking, and for some time said nothing.
“I suppose,” said he at last, “you’ve got to put it through. You began it, you know. You would send for her. I never saw the use of it.”
“But do you think this is the party?”
“Oh, I dare say. It don’t make any difference any way. Nobody would take the trouble to come to you with a sham story.”
“That’s a fact,” said my father.
“So I don’t see but you’ve got to take her.”
“Well,” said my father, “if you think so, why all right.”
“I don’t think any thing of the kind,” returned John, snappishly. “I only think that she’s the party you sent for.”
“Oh, well, it’s all the same,” said my father, who then turned to me again.
“If you’re the girl,” he said, “you can get in. Hunt up Mrs. Compton, and she’ll take charge of you.”