“Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him. “But, dear, think! He is your father. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. This done, Edgeworth Bess, who watched her opportunity, slipped out of the Lodge. “I refuse. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. It was a clear, lovely, October morning.
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