Pat's eyes snapped with suspicion. "Did Jimmie write you to come back here? From Europe, I mean."
"He cabled."
"Jimmie's a—— Never mind what he is. I'll tell him to his face, when we get there."
But when they got there T. Jameson James, it seemed, was not feeling very brisk. Well enough to have them come up to his room; oh, yes, that; and warmly glad to see Scott again. After a few moments' talk, however, he displayed symptoms of weariness. He even hinted that he would be better off for the time without visitors.
Pat, with the perverseness of her excitement and anticipations, insisted on staying to read to her brother-in-law as usual. This he vetoed outright.
"No. I don't want you. I'm sleepy. Take Scott over to the Knoll for luncheon. He's probably famished. And Dee had to go to town, so there's nothing to be had here. Run along."
Her hand being thus forced, Pat issued the invitation, and she and Scott left the sick-room. But they had not reached the front door when she turned and darted upstairs again. Throwing herself down by the cripple's couch she caught his head to her bosom and cherished it there.
"Oh, Jimmie! You promise-breaker. You old liar! I adore you." She pressed a swift kiss on his cheek and was gone.
Mr. T. Jameson James made a face at the Devil and chuckled himself to sleep.
Rejoining Scott outside Pat commanded: "Tell me everything you've been doing in the big, big world."