Rose regarded the mother with a puzzled expression.
"Then you have no crazed daughter—"
"Never. What put such an idea into your head, child?"
It was August, but Rose had no time to explain, for at that moment a shadow fell athwart the grass, and both looked up to see a man standing before them with a hat down low over his eyes.
Rose uttered a cry.
Mrs. Bordine stood staring, but when the man lifted his hat she uttered a glad cry and rushed to his arms.
It was, or seemed to be, August Bordine.
Rose waited for her turn with a wildly beating heart.
"Stand aside mother, I would speak with Rose."
The mother stepped aside then.