“Yes, I know! I remember your mother wore one, although I did not approve, not at all—but, my dear, you are a widow now.”
“Oh no!” cried Mary Louise hastily. “I’m not a widow, Grandpa Jim. My husband is just away for a little while, not for all time.”
“You are mistaken. He will never come back.” The old man spoke with curt precision.
Mary Louise hesitated. She could not decide whether it would be better to combat her grandfather’s statement or whether, perhaps, it was just as well to let him have his way in the matter.
Suddenly the bell pealed forth.
“Callers! Do you want to see anyone, Grandpa Jim?”
“Yes! Yes! Let them come in, just so it is not that old reprobate Peter Conant.”
“Oh, Grandpa Jim. You can’t mean dear Uncle Peter!”
“Of course I do. I was never so fooled by anybody in my life as that man. He is underhanded and sly, and—”
As Peter Conant was famed far and near for his honesty, this made Mary Louise smile in spite of herself. As well accuse Irene Macfarlane herself of dishonesty or even Grandpa Jim.