"Yes, ran up the stairs!" Beeston was saying, still speaking of Mr. Mapleson. "The lawyers tell me the man looked downright terrified!"
Bab spoke then. "Dad"—it was thus she called him—"dad," she demanded, "what's wrong? Why Is it that Mr. Varick never comes to our house? He used to, you know!"
Varick! At the name she saw a quick gleam spring in Beeston's eyes, and then, his brows thickening, he scowled. But Bab now had forgotten caution in her determination to know. Assuredly there must be some good reason why Varick had avoided her.
"Huh!" said Beeston abruptly. "What difference is it to you what that fellow does?"
"Only that I like him, dad! That's enough, isn't it?" Bab answered deliberately; and Beeston, from under his shaggy brows, gave her another sharp stare.
"Oh, so you like him, eh?" he returned, his eyes lowering. "That's how the land lies, is it? And why do you like him, let me ask?"
"Why shouldn't I?" Bab retorted quietly. Then without calculating the consequences of what she said, she added: "So would you have liked him if he had been as kind, as pleasant as he always was to me!"
The statement seemed to hit Beeston as significant Again his eyes lit darkly and he gazed at her, his face sneering.