CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Suppose,”—said Mrs. Bryce, as they got into the limousine, “—suppose we postpone explanations until after lunch. I’m too worn out to understand anything you may say.”
So conversation was casual enough on the way home. Once there, Isabelle manœuvred to get Larry alone, but Wally stuck to him like a father.
“Wally,” said his daughter, sternly, “Max wants you.”
“What does she want?”—impatiently.
“You.”
He went, reluctantly. Larry held out two eager hands to Isabelle, but she ignored them.