CHAPTER XXVII. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. Mr. Sheppard. Courtlaw sat with folded arms. ” Lucy said, marveling at the intricate cockpit of a model helicopter. Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. Was he your natural father? Did you know him?” “No, I didn’t. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years.
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