"She complained of a headache and went to her room. Shall I call her?"
"Oh, no; but if you haven't already done so, I wish you wouldn't mention what Brockway told you, this morning—about his spending the day in Denver, I mean."
"Certainly not, if you wish it," the chaperon agreed; but the expression of her face was so plainly interrogative that the President was constrained to go on.
"There is nothing to be anxious about yet," he hastened to say; "but you know the old adage about the ounce of prevention. Gertrude is very self-willed, and they were together rather more than I could wish, last summer."
"I think you are altogether mistaken, Cousin Francis," said the good lady, in whom there was no drop of match-making blood. "She has talked very freely with me about him, and a young girl doesn't do that if there is any sentiment in the air."
"I hope you are right. But it will do no harm to give ourselves the benefit of the doubt. I fancy Chester didn't quite approve of the little diversion last evening—on the engine, you know."
"Pooh! I don't believe he gave it a second thought."
"Possibly not; but he had a very good right to object. It was a reckless bit of impropriety."
"You sat up for Gertrude last night; did you say as much to her?" the chaperon asked, shrewdly.
"Not quite that," said the President, who was unwilling to go into particulars.