Then he read it again, and ejaculated.
"Talk about madness! Why, because Stafford's mad--if he is mad--must our friend the painter go mad too?
Not that I see he is mad.

He's only been stirring up old Morewood's dormant piety." He lit his cigar, and sat pondering the letter.
"Shall I try to stop him?
If Claudia and Eugene have fixed up things it would be charitable to prevent him making a fool of himself.

Why the deuce haven't I heard anything from that young rascal?
Hullo! who's that ?" He heard a voice outside, and the next moment Eugene himself rushed in.
"Here you are!" he said.

"Thought I should find you.

You can't keep away from this dirty old town." "Where do you spring from ?" asked Ayre.
"Liverpool.