“Not to mince matters,” he said gloomily, “I’m in the devil of a mess.

 

In fact, I haven’t the least idea what to do next.”

 

“What’s the matter?” I asked sympathetically.

 

“It’s my confounded stepfather.”

 

“What has he done?”

 

“It isn’t what he’s done yet, but what he’s likely to do.”

 

The bell was answered, and Ralph ordered the drinks. When the man had gone

again, he sat hunched in the arm-chair, frowning to himself.

 

“Is it really—serious?” I asked.

 

He nodded.

 

“I’m fairly up against it this time,” he said soberly.

 

The unusual ring of gravity in his voice told me that he spoke the truth. It

took a good deal to make Ralph grave.