“Zuba,” he demanded, “what sort of lunatic business is this? Do you know?”
Azuba straightened.
“I don't know much,” she announced sharply. “All I know is that I come upstairs in the dark and he grabbed me and—and said somethin' about my payin' him—and then he—he—done the other thing. That's all I know, and it's enough. Don't talk to ME! I never was so surprised and mortified in MY life.”
“But—but what's it mean? Can't anybody tell me, for the Lord sakes?”
Gertrude stepped forward. “I think I understand,” she said. “Our cousin made a mistake, that's all. I will explain at another time, Daddy. If—if you will all go away, he and I will have an interview. I think I can settle it better than anyone else. Go, please. I'm sure Mother needs you.”
The mention of his wife caused her father to forget everything else, even his overwhelming curiosity.
“My soul!” he cried. “She heard this; and—and I left her all alone.”
He bolted up the stairs. Gertrude's next remark was addressed to the housekeeper.
“Azuba,” she said, “would you and your husband mind leaving us? Perhaps you'd better not go to bed. I—I may need Mr. Ginn later on; perhaps I may. But if you and he were to go down to the kitchen and wait just a few moments I should be so much obliged. Will you?”
Azuba hesitated.