Grandma eyed them shrewdly with her Demon's glance of questioning, but did nothing to keep them apart. On the contrary, she would often brazenly leave them together after conducting them to remote nooks. She made no flimsy excuses. She seemed indifferent to the fate of this tender bud left at the mercy of one whom she affected to regard as a seasoned roué.
There were four days of this regrettable philandering. On the fifth Breede manifested alarming symptoms of recovery. He ceased to be the meek man he was under actual suffering, and was several times guilty of short-worded explosions that should never have reached the ears of good women.
Said the flapper in tones of genuine dismay that evening:
"I'm afraid Pops is going to be well enough to go to town to-morrow!"
Even Grandma, pacing a bit of choice turf near at hand, rehearsing her lines in the mob scene, was shocked at this.
"You are a selfish little pig!" she called.
"But he will have to go away, if Pops goes," said the flapper, in magnificent extenuation.
The words told. Grandma seemed to see things in a new light.
"You come with me," she commanded; "both of you."
Ahead of them she led the way to that pergola where Bean had once overheard their talk.