“Grandam is coming down for lunch. I’m glad we all happen to be at home, now that she’s able to join us again. You haven’t met her yet, have you, Prescott? And Ariel hasn’t.”
It was the third day of Hugh’s absence and Ariel’s loneliness.
Anne laughed. “Well, neither have I, if it comes to that, Mother. Not this vacation. Do you realize? Each time I’ve tried to go up to say ‘Howdy,’ that old Peters of hers has come across with some excuse or other. She was asleep. Or away on a journey....”
“Come, now!” Enderly interrupted. “Your grandmother isn’t a heathen god, is she? You’ve made her pretty mysterious, you and Glenn,—but this is the first time you’ve been so definite in your implications.”
“She is mysterious. And I didn’t know you knew your Bible, bright boy! But you might think she’d care to see her only granddaughter, who hasn’t been at home since Christmas, wouldn’t you? She’s getting so exclusive there’s no living with her—literally.”
Mrs. Weyman was looking at the clock. Rose had come in to the library some minutes ago to announce luncheon, and if Grandam was joining them at last, it did seem as if she might take a little trouble to be on time. “My mother-in-law is not very strong,” she explained for Enderly’s benefit. “She’s forced to spend her strength very circumspectly. And people tire her.”
Glenn shut his book. “Don’t soft pedal so, Mother! We all know that it’s the people who happen to bore Grandam that tire her. She’s an everlasting snob.”
Anne laughed again. “You can’t insult your friend, the famous novelist, if that’s your aim, sonny. Grandam wouldn’t know whether Pressy bored her until she met him, would she? No. This time health will have to be accepted as Grandam’s alibi.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Prescott, of course. Of you, dear sister. But we’re both in the same boat. Mother too. I think every last one of us bores Grandam, except Hugh. When he gets back, you’ll notice she’ll be down for lunch and dinner rather frequently.”
“Well, it’s five minutes past now. And Rose sounded the gong in the back hall, so they know up there that lunch is waiting. Perhaps Grandam has changed her mind, after all. I think we’ll go in.” Glenn, bringing up the rear of the procession dining-roomward called out, “Perhaps it’s Ariel Grandam’s shy of. She isn’t a famous novelist or anything else famous. She’s not even a member of an old New York family. Grandam may feel that it’s too much of a chance—”