“Yes; he’s her cousin.”
He frowned over this; asked a number of questions.
“Are you sure she’s all right?” he demanded. “You can’t be too careful, you know.”
“Oh, yes!” Frances asserted, positively, although she was far from sure that he would think so.
“I’ll certainly stop in this evening,” he said. “I want to see for myself.”
“I don’t think you’d better,” she said, reluctantly, “Miss E.’s awfully queer, eccentric, you know. She mightn’t like it.”
“But I want to see her,” he insisted. “She surely can’t object to my stopping in for half a minute. You’re not a servant.”
“It’s not that——”
“I want to see for myself,” he repeated. “It may not be a suitable place for you at all. I’d know at once.”
His attitude, his air of protection, delighted Frankie while it annoyed her. She was so firmly convinced that she could take care of herself, so jealous of her freedom, that she didn’t want even advice. And still couldn’t help being very much pleased by this wholly masculine gesture.