He seemed to be somewhat lacking in enthusiasm, I thought, and I could not help saying:
"Surely you are not disappointed?"
"How can you suggest such a thing, George?"
But the impression remained. I was certain that something was amiss. Even Sally herself seemed to be less inclined towards Gran'pa than she had been before the operation.
A trifle resentfully, she told me that he was very domineering at times. She also felt that he spent far too much time with the other members of the club, and that she was consequently being neglected.
To make matters worse, Gran'pa became the moving spirit in a vicious little clique of gamblers who played poker and auction bridge with a wild desperation—as if determined to seek solace in cards, now that the glands had failed them. The stakes, too, were dangerously high.
"We must get him away from these wicked, unrejuvenated old men," I said to Sally one morning. "He's becoming demoralized."
The next morning Sally announced that she insisted on returning to England before the week was out.
"But, my dear. . . ." protested Gran'pa. "You can't rush things like this."
Sally showed her spirit.