“To be married,” she repeated, “to whom?”
“To a fellow called Penny Nap—he used to keep a saloon.”
“Penny Nap—is that all the name he has?”
“That is his nickname, his whole name is Norman Bonstone.”
“Stanna—Penny Nap,” echoed Mrs. Granton in a bewildered way.
“I don’t like it,” said my master crossly. “I believe the girl is being coerced. I can’t make her out; perhaps you could. Clossie, will you go to see her?”
Mrs. Clossie’s eyelids narrowed, as she stared at her husband. “Oh! certainly. You think I can find out whether she is happy about it? It’s a great thing to have Stanna happy.”
Master didn’t say anything. He was dreaming, and gazing into the fire.
The matter must have made an impression on Mrs. Granton, for the next afternoon she announced her intention of going to see the Restertons. Master telephoned, found that they would be at home, then he set out with his wife to walk the short distance to their house.
Something was the matter with the car, and it had been sent to the repair shop, unfortunately, oh! most unfortunately.