"There's a boy, isn't there?" she parried. "Old Mr. Beeston's grandson?"
The look of wonder in his face grew.
"Who? David Lloyd, you mean? How did you know him?" he questioned.
"I don't," said Bab, smiling at his vehemence; "I've only heard about him. He's a cripple, isn't he—a hopeless cripple?"
It proved that all his life Varick had known the boy—the man rather—whom she meant.
"Look here, Bab," he directed, puzzled, "why do you ask me about those people? I'd like to know that! Will you tell me?"
She deliberated for a moment.
"It was something I heard," she said then, hesitating.
"Here? In this house?" he questioned, all the more amazed; and Bab nodded.