"Where did you get it?" he repeated. "Are you ashamed to say?"
"Ashamed? Father gave it to me!"
"Your father!" Avery started; but if anything had caused him apprehension, it instantly disappeared. "Then didn't he tell you who this man Eaton is?"
His tone terrified her, made her confused; she snatched for the picture but he held it from her. "Didn't he tell you what this picture is?"
"What?" she repeated.
"What did he say to you?"
"He got the picture and had me see it; he asked me if it was—Mr. Eaton. I told him yes."
"And then didn't he tell you who Eaton was?" Avery iterated.
"What do you mean, Don?"
He put the picture down on the table beside him and, as she rushed for it, he seized both her hands and held her before him. "Harry, dear!" he said to her. "Harry, dear—"