CHAPTER XXVIIIThe drawing-room of the river house was not the only place where Irene was being discussed. Colonel Bostock, relaxing pleasantly in the society of his daughters, tossed a log on to the fire and, still leaning forward, remembered that there was something he had meant to ask them. He addressed himself to Janet, a healthy, well set-up young woman with a pleasant, sensible face.
‘Remember the Pennington girls—Irene and, what’s her name, Lydia?’
‘Of course. Why?’
‘Old Paradine’s dead. One of them married the stepson, didn’t she? What’s his name—Ambrose?’
Alice Bostock said,
‘There’ll be pots of money. I wonder if Irene comes in for any of it.’
‘She wasn’t the red-headed one, was she?’ said Colonel Bostock.
Both girls spoke together.
‘Oh, no—that’s Lydia.’
Colonel Bostock
