soft answer
that turneth away wrath, had snapped a crisp rejoinder in louder tones
than any he had yet used. For a minute the two men were speaking at
once, discharging verbal salvos at point-blank range. Miss Ocky
shrugged her shoulders and smiled rather scornfully to herself. She
was not surprised. Lucy had told her of Copley's youthful flashes of
temper, which still persisted, though he had learned in some measure to
control them.

She was trying to guess the probable outcome of the battle of words
when her thoughts were interrupted from another quarter. The bell of
the front door had rung violently, and Bates hurried from the pantry
and along the hallway to answer it. Miss Ocky wondered who in the
world could be calling at such an hour.

She knew in a moment. There was the briefest of parleys with the
butler, and then, through the door of the living-room, she saw two men
hurry rearward through the hall in the direction of the study.
Evidently they proposed to present themselves before Varr without the
formality of announcing themselves through Bates.

The first of the two she recognized instantly--it was Graham, the
manager of the tannery, whom she had met several times. And he was
Sheila's father! An awkward occasion for him to appear! The second
man she did not know at all. He was smaller and slighter than Graham,
a pale, anaemic creature. He lagged behind his companion, and as the
latter kept a grip on his arm as they proceeded, he gave the effect of
a lamb going reluctantly to the sacrifice.

Graham's face had been deeply flushed--so much she had had time to note
as he swept past the open door. She heard him knock at the study--from
sheer force of habit, no doubt, as he could not have waited for a
summons to enter before flinging back the door. His voice carried
clear to Miss Ocky's ear as he swiftly took up some remark he had
caught from within.

"That will do, young man! I can fight my own battles with no help from
you--!"

Obviously, events were marching to a proper row. Miss Ocky had no
objection to rows when she could participate in them, but to sit by and
listen to others enjoying themselves was merely boresome. She put her
book on the table, marking her place with the Persian dagger, rose and
left the room. The angry voices from the study followed her upstairs
as she sought the quiet of her own room.

Here she found Janet Mackay, seated in a corner with a dozen new
handkerchief