"On Saturday, sir. Alma was with me. She will tell you."
Mr. Denny rang a small bell that stood at his elbow, and a maid came to the door.
"Will you call Miss Denny, Anna?"
The maid retired, and in a moment or two Alma appeared. She seemed pale and dejected, and she sat down at once as if weary.
"What is it, father? Any new troubles?"
"Were you with your cousin when he took this photograph?"
She looked at it a moment, and then said wearily:
"Yes. It's the batting mill."
Just here the door opened, and Mr. Belford, hat and travelling bag in hand, as if just from the station, entered the room. The two men looked up in undisguised amazement, but Alma cast her eyes upon the floor, and her face seemed to put on a more ashen hue than ever.
"Ah! excuse me. I did not mean to intrude. I'm just from New York, and I have been so successful that I hastened to lay the news before you."