THEORY NUMBER FOURIt was an amazed and horrified Cranley who listened to Doris’s tale at the police station next morning. Duty had called him at an early hour to survey the charred and drenched wreckage of Seapoint; and he had found her waiting for him on his return. His face grew pale as he learned of the dangers which his little girl had been through, and his imagination sickened at the thought of what might have been the end of the adventure. Most of the story she told sitting on his knee, with his arm held tightly round her—the expression of a protective impulse which, however retrospective in action, was somehow comforting to both of them. The end of it was smothered with kisses and expressions of endearment, and of relief at the beloved one’s escape, on which we forbear to intrude.
