Cary stared. Then she recovered herself. "Yes?" she said politely.
The old officer sat up very straight grasping his cane, and then he led direct to the object of his visit, as he had led direct his famous charge into the center of the enemy's lines, on the heights of Inkerman, way back in '54.
"I've come to see you about that boy of mine," he said bluntly.
"You mean—Robert?" asked Cary slowly, and for lack of something to say.
"He's a good enough kind of a chap—" Cary suppressed a smile, remembering how the old man adored him, "but he's a bit hot-headed and reckless, and he's—mad over you, and—" he broke off. It seemed to him almost as though he was disloyal to the boy.
Cary leaned forward with burning cheeks.
"And you hope he won't do anything rash—is that it?" There was a trace of indignation in her voice.
"Jove! no, child. I haven't come to plead for him, but to ask you to be careful."
"I don't understand you," said Cary, the hot flush not fading.
"There! You must not be offended. You know the boy is the apple of my eye, but he isn't faultless. He has got good stuff in him if he is only moulded right, but there would be the very devil to pay—I beg your pardon—if he was ever thwarted in anything he'd set his stubborn mind on."