"We authors are such slaves," he murmured. "I must get back to my native habitat, like a bear to its cave." (he had almost said "wounded bear.")
"You are leaving Kentucky, then?"
"Yes, after a few days at Holiday Hill to get my things together."
"You are sure you are quite well and strong again?" she asked slowly.
"I fear I am. Better than I've ever been in my life, and fatter, alas! thanks to your excellent cook."
She did not give him an answering smile. "I am glad of that, because I should not like any guest, above all Jim Thorpe's nephew, to leave my house until he was quite ready to do so.—And I have been waiting," she added, very quietly, "until you were quite well and strong to speak to you about a certain matter."
His tongue went dry in his mouth; a sensation that reminded him of episodes in his schooldays, when circumstances led him not infrequently into the office of the headmaster.
Mrs. Kildare said quite suddenly, "I understand that you are courting my daughter Jacqueline, Mr. Channing."
For the moment a reply failed him. He had not expected quite such a lack of delicacy.
She went on. "Something my daughter Jemima noticed led us to that conclusion. Perhaps she was mistaken? You will understand, Mr. Channing, that I must be father as well as mother to my children."