But I always
understood that your father's relations were as poor as church mice."
"Poorer, uncle! His father--my grandfather, that is--was a clergyman
with barely enough to live on, and his uncle was a Roman Catholic
priest. Both of them have been dead for years."
"And your father--well, I know there was nothing there," Mr. Bullsom
remarked, thoughtfully.
"You cabled out the money to bring me home," Mary reminded him.
"Well, well!" Mr. Bullsom declared. "You must go and see these chaps.
There's no harm in that, at any rate. We must all have that trip to
London. I expect Brooks will be wanting to go and see Henslow. We'll
have to give that chap what for, I know."
Selina sailed into the room in a salmon-coloured wrapper, which should
long ago have been relegated to the bath-room. She pecked her father on
the cheek and nodded to Mary.
"Don't you see Mr. Brooks, dear?" her father remarked, with a twinkle
in his eye and something very much like a wink to Mary.
Selina screamed, and looked fearfully around the room.
"What do you mean, papa?" she exclaimed.
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