“I like that,” I said, “when she fought so against the child’s adoption.”
“Oh! forget that,” said Gringo, “anyway, she wanted to come live here, and he let her come, and he’s going to sell the house, and make a big figure on it for an apartment-house site, and he’s going to get a coupé for her to run about in, and have all the old ladies she wants.”
“She’ll be agreeable, won’t she?” I asked anxiously, for I hated to hear of anything clouding the Bonstones’ lovely home life.
“Agreeable, yes. She’s a comely old dear. Everybody likes her. She minces round in her black silk, poking her aristocratic old nose into everything, but who cares? The servants favour her, and the missis pets her like a baby.”
“But Master Carty,” I said, “I do hope he isn’t coming.”
“He’s got to,” said Gringo uneasily, “as his home with his grandmother is broken up.”
“There’s your snag,” I said.
Gringo looked gloomy. “You bet—the young rap tipples all the time. The women can’t stop him.”
“Maybe country life will.”