“Oh, then you saw him?” cried Joe, all interest at once.
“Saw him!” repeated Mabel, with a short laugh. “You might better ask me if I saw anything else. He was around the place from morning to night. I think if Mother Matson hadn’t been in such poor health he would have come around to breakfast, too.”
Joe got to his feet and strode around the room, hands thrust deep in his pockets.
“Serious as all that!” Mabel heard him mutter to himself. “How does Clara act? How does she treat this—boob?” he demanded, suddenly stopping short in front of Mabel and glaring at her in exasperation. “Does she encourage him?”
“You might call it that,” Mabel returned, with a puzzled frown. “She certainly accepts his attentions. Lets him take her out in his beautiful car, plays tennis with him, and listens while he reads his foolish poems to her.”
Joe literally ground his teeth in futile rage and exasperation. He began again his restless pacing of the room.
“Did you have a chance to talk to her?” he continued his cross-examination. “Did you ask her what she meant by treating a fine fellow like Jim so shabbily?”
“You forget, Joe dear, that I’m not Clara’s guardian. It wasn’t my place to take her to task. All I could do was try to sound her. She evaded all my questions with some light answer, and when I asked her point-blank whether she intended to turn Jim down in favor of her millionaire——”
“What did she say?” interrupted Joe, swiftly.
“She merely remarked that I ought to know better. She seemed to be offended, and if I had pressed things just then the result might have been a real quarrel. I thought the best thing to do was drop the whole thing. After all, Clara is old enough to know her own mind.”