“Yes—Mrs. Ransford.”
Joan felt even less at her ease confronted by those twinkling eyes.
“She’s a—bright woman.”
The man casually picked up a straw and began to chew it.
Joan saw that he was smiling broadly, and resented it. So she threw all the dignity she could summon into her next question.
“Then you must be Mr. Moreton Kenyon!” she said.
The man shook his head.
“Wrong. That’s the ‘Padre,’” he announced curtly.
Joan forgot her resentment in her surprise.