Punctually at nine o'clock he passed through the living-room on his way to the appointment, and paused for a word with Ocky, who was reading by the lamp in the center of the room. She had checked him with a gesture.
"What does he want to see you about?"
"I don't know. Just a snappy laying down of the laws of the Medes and the Persians, I expect."
"Well, don't quarrel with him!"
"You mean—he's my father, after all? Right. It takes two to make a quarrel anyway."
"The most ridiculous aphorism ever coined! I've made lots of them myself, single-handed. And it was policy, not filial respect, that dictated my caution. If you quarrel, you'll lose your temper; if you lose your temper, you may let something slip that will reveal your plans."
"Yours is the sapience of the serpent! But what could he do if he did know the truth? We're both of age."
"Just the same, it's a good generalship to avoid risks. I have learned to leave little to chance."
"Aunt Ocky, will you come and live with us when we are really settled? I've an idea I could profit a lot if I sat at your knees for a while!"
"I wish I could accept your invitation," Miss Ocky answered gravely. Her eyes left his face and seemed to shield her thoughts behind a film of blankness. "I'm afraid I have other—plans," she added quietly. "It's after nine—don't get the habit of unpunctuality."