She looked for an instant as if she were trying to recollect what he had told her; then she said, "Did father write to you?"
"Of course he did. That's why I'm here."
"Poor father, sometimes he doesn't know what to do!" Delia remarked.
"He told me the Reverberator has made a sensation. I guessed that for myself, when I saw the way the papers here were after it. That thing will go the round you'll see! What brought me was learning from him that they have got their backs up."
"What on earth are you talking about?" cried Delia.
Mr. Flack turned his eyes on hers in the same way as a moment before; Francie sat there serious, looking hard at the carpet. "What game are you trying, Miss Delia? It ain't true you care what I wrote, is it?" he pursued, addressing himself again to Francie.
She raised her eyes. "Did you write it yourself?"
"What do you care what he wrote—or what does any one care?" Delia broke in.
"It has done the paper more good than anything—every one is so interested," said Mr. Flack, in the tone of reasonable explanation. "And you don't feel that you have anything to complain of, do you?" he added, to Francie, kindly.
"Do you mean because I told you?"
