Audrey started and flushed at her
mother's eager, pregnant question; Mr. Dennie sat up very erect and took
a pinch of snuff from his old-fashioned box. Copplestone pushed his chair
away from the table and began to walk about. And Mrs. Greyle continued to
look from one face to the other as if demanding a reply to her question.
"Mother!" said Audrey in a low voice. "You aren't suggesting--"
"Ahem!" interrupted Mr. Dennie. "A moment, my dear. There is nothing, I
believe," he continued, waxing a little oracular, "nothing like plain
speech. We are all friends--we have a common cause--justice! It may be
that justice demands our best endeavours not only as regards our deceased
friend, Bassett Oliver, but in the interests of--this young lady. So--"
"I wish you wouldn't, Mr. Dennie!" exclaimed Audrey. "I don't like this
at all. Please don't!"
She turned, almost instinctively, to seek Copplestone's aid in repressing
the old man. But Copplestone was standing by the window, staring moodily
at the wind-swept quay beyond the garden, and Mr. Dennie waved his
snuff-box and went on.
"An old man's privilege!" he said. "In your interests, my dear. Allow
me." He turned again to Mrs. Greyle. "In plain words, ma'am, you are
wondering if the present holder of the estates is really what he claims
to be. Plain English, eh?"
"I am!" answered Mrs.
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