"Put him in the best bedroom and gave him your special whiskey," said Mary.
"The deuce you did!... Killed the fatted calf, eh?... Well, where is he now?"
"He went to walk with John—John took a great fancy to him."
"He did?" Laurence's face changed subtly, relaxed. "Well, that's something.... But, say—it's awkward about Lavery being here. I wish I'd known."
"I might have telegraphed, but I didn't know where you were," said Mary.
"You can always reach me at the hotel," he said sharply.
She moved toward the door.
"I wish to the deuce Lavery wasn't here," he muttered.
"I wouldn't care about that." There was an edge in Mary's tone, but with an effort she eliminated that touch of criticism. "Your father can take care of himself—he's quite as much a gentleman as Lavery."
"No, is he really?"