A Bold Stroke
A card, bearing the name “Miss Clara Howe,” was handed to Varnoe in his office.
“Let the lady come in,” he said to Mrs. Harris, and directly after a pretty girl of about seventeen summers entered, making a graceful bow on seeing the gentleman rising from his seat.
“You are Mr. Varnoe, I presume?” said she, with a fain color rising in her cheek.
“At your service,” replied Varnoe, bowing.
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