“Glen Darrow. From the first moment, almost.”
Mrs. Bob Lee sighed. “Well, of course—she’s a mighty fine person, I reckon! I’ve heard Cousin ’Gene Carey say wonderful things about her, and Cousin Ada’s devoted to her. But, Peter—it would be a lot more suitable; you know that. And we certainly would love to have you in our family.”
Peter leaned suddenly nearer and kissed her enjoyingly. “Mary-Lou,” he said softly, “your Bob Lee must have hated to die and leave you!”
She accepted the kiss without surprise and returned it amiably but absently. “I reckon he did, Peter Piper.” Tears glittered suddenly on her dark lashes. “I reckon he did,” she said again and slipped away.
At four o’clock that afternoon she came into Mr. Carey’s office where Peter had just preceded her, and where the senior partner had been closeted for a devastating hour with Heminway. She ran to her Cousin ’Gene and put an arm about his neck, and laid her warm cheek against his.
“You—you know about this, Mary-Lou?” he blinked at her, stammering, dazed.
She nodded. “Yes, honey; Peter told me. But we’re not going to fret about it. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Cousin ’Gene—and we’ve got Peter!”
Mr. Carey got heavily to his feet. “Poor white trash!” he said thickly. “A lying, thieving knave. I shall shoot him down like a yellow cur!” Dark blood suffused his face.
“No, Cousin ’Gene, no! You can’t do that!” Mary-Lou soothed. “He isn’t worth the mess it would make you, Cousin ’Gene, honey. Now, just sit down, and we’ll talk it over!” She pushed him gently back in his chair, crossed to a window and opened it wider.
Peter followed her. “Did you tell her?” He whispered it.