The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. Oh, it is unbearable. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. "A hell of a muddle! But all the talk in the world can't undo it. It was not that the servants could not, they simply preferred to. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. " "Jack!" cried Thames, in indignant surprise. She seemed to assume that it must certainly be something she had said.
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