Hal had turned round and stared at him in blank astonishment.
“Goodness gracious!” she exclaimed, “what an outburst! What has Sir Edwin done to hurt you?”
But he stood his ground steadily.
“You know it isn’t that. If you were my sister, I wouldn’t let you go out with him as you do.”
“Then what a comfort for me, I’m not. And really, Baby dear! I’m much more adapted to be your mother.”
“Rot!”
He looked at her almost fiercely for a moment, scarcely aware of it himself, but with a sudden, swift, unaccountable resentment of the old joke. Hal, surprised again, backed away a little, eyeing him with a quizzical, roguish expression that made him want desperately to shake her.
“Grandpapa,” she murmured, with a mock, apologetic air, “you really mustn’t get so worked up at—at your advanced years.”
His face relaxed suddenly into laughter.
“I don’t know whether I want to shake you or kiss you… you… you—”