“Ah, you mustn't expect to see anything of Champe these days,” replied the Major, waiting for Mrs. Lightfoot to be seated before he drew up his chair. “His heart's gone roving, I tell him, and he follows mighty closely after it. If you don't find him at Uplands, you've only to inquire at Powell Hall.”
“Uplands!” exclaimed Dan, hearing the one word. “What is he doing at Uplands?”
The Major chuckled as he settled himself in his easy chair and stretched out his slippered feet. “Well, I should say that he was doing a very commendable thing, eh, Molly?” he rejoined jokingly.
“He's losing his head, if that's what you mean,” retorted the old lady.
“Not his head, but his heart, my dear,” blandly corrected the Major, “and I repeat that it is a very commendable thing to do—why, where would you be to-day, madam, if I hadn't fallen in love with you?”
Mrs. Lightfoot sniffed as she unwound her knitting. “I don't doubt that I should be quite as well off, Mr. Lightfoot,” she replied convincingly.
“Ah, maybe so, maybe so,” admitted the Major, with a sigh; “but I'm very sure that I shouldn't be, my dear.”
The old lady softened visibly, but she only remarked:—
“I'm glad that you have found it out, sir,” and clicked her needles.
Dan, who had been wandering aimlessly about the room, threw himself into a chair beside his grandmother and caught at her ball of yarn.