"You're not even to write to them," interrupted Andrew.
Mr. Walkingshaw stroked his chin meditatively.
"I agree to that," he said. "Any more conditions?"
The smile that prevailed in his discomfited parent's eye perturbed the junior partner. He warily scanned all possible loopholes.
"You're not to communicate with Madge Dunbar."
"God forbid!" said Heriot fervently.
"Nor my aunt."
"Bless her, poor soul; no fears of that."
"I think that's all," said Andrew reluctantly.
So long as those eyes continued to look at him like that, he desired to pile condition on condition. But the overwhelming advantages of being encumbered with no imagination occasionally—very occasionally—have compensating drawbacks. He could imagine nothing else to be guarded against.