"Did Blanchard tell you that?" she asked with exquisite scorn.
"Have you seen much of this Granthope?"
"I've seen him four times."
"And you have invited him to my house?"
"He has been here."
Mr. Payson rose and shook his eye-glasses at her. "I must positively forbid that!" he exclaimed. "I won't have you receiving that fellow here. From what I hear of him he's a fakir, and I won't encourage him in his attempts to get into society at my expense."
"Do you mean to say that you forbid him the house, father? Isn't that a bit melodramatic? I wouldn't make a scene about it. I am twenty-seven and I'm not absolutely a fool. I think you can trust me."
"Then what have you been doing with him? What does it all mean, anyway?"
"As soon as I know what it means, I'll tell you. At present, I think we had better not discuss Mr. Granthope."
He blustered for a while longer, iterating his reproaches, then simmered down into a morose condition, which lasted through dinner. Clytie knew better than to discuss the subject with him. Her calmness had returned, though she kept her color and did not talk. The two went into the library and read.