CHAPTER VII
OSBORNE’S STORY
“Good heavens, Dulcie!” I exclaimed, hurrying across to her, “whatever are you doing here? And you, Aunt Hannah?”
At the sound of my voice Dulcie started up in her chair, and Aunt Hannah turned quickly. To my amazement they both looked at me without uttering. Dulcie’s eyes were troubled. She seemed inclined to speak, yet afraid to. The expression with which Aunt Hannah peered at me chilled me.
“What is the meaning of this, Mr. Berrington?” she asked coldly, after a brief pause. Even in that moment of tense anxiety it struck me that Aunt Hannah looked and spoke as though reproving a naughty schoolboy.
“Meaning of what?” I said stupidly, astonishment for the moment deadening my intelligence.
“Of your bringing us up to London to find—this.”
“Bringing you up?
