"Ah-ha! Qualms of conscience——"
"Hennie is a little raised, Mr. Graeme," broke in Margaret. "Please excuse her. A good night's rest will make her all right."
"Never felt better in my life," sparkled Miss Penny. "But seriously, Mr. Graeme, it is only right you should understand, for we don't quite know where we are ourselves, and I'm going to tell you even though Margaret kicks all the skin off my leg in the process. In a word,—we've bolted."
"Bolted?" he echoed, all aglow with hopeful interest.
"Yes—from Mr. Pixley and all his works. And as he had been threatening to make us a Ward of Court, you see—well, there you are, don't you know."
"I see," he said, and there was a new light in his eyes as he looked at Margaret, and his soul danced within him again as David's before the Ark.
"For reasons which seemed adequate to myself, Mr. Graeme,"—began Margaret, in more sober explanation.
"They were, they were. I am sure of it," sang his heart. And his brain asked eagerly, "Had Charles Svendt anything to do with it, I wonder?"
"—I thought it well to remove myself from the care of my guardian Mr. Pixley——"
"Splendid girl! Splendid girl!" sang his heart.