"Might slip out there with a rope and tie her to a tree while Mr. Robert makes his escape," says I.
A snicker from Vee.
"Please!" says Marjorie. "This is really serious. I can't explain to Elsa. But what must she think of Robert? I've simply got to get rid of that girl somehow. She's one of the kind, you know, who would stay and stay until——"
"Hello!" says I, glancin' out towards the entrance-gates. "What sort of a delegation is this?"
A tall, loppy young female in a sagged skirt and a faded pink shirtwaist is driftin' up the driveway, towin' a bow-legged three-year-old boy by one hand and luggin' a speckle-faced baby on her hip.
"Oh!" says Marjorie. "That scamp of a Bob Flynn's Katie again."
Seems Flynn had been one of Mr. Robert's chauffeurs that he'd wished onto Ferdie a year or so back on account of Flynn's bein' married and complainin' he couldn't support his fam'ly in the city. If he could get a place in the country, where the rents wa'n't so high and his old chowder-party friends wa'n't so thick, Flynn thought he might do better. He had steadied down for a while, too, until he took a sudden notion to slope and leave his interestin' fam'ly behind.
"She's coming to ask if we've heard anything of him," goes on Marjorie. "I've a good notion to send her straight to Robert."
"Say," says I, havin' one of my thought-flashes, "wait a minute. We might—do I understand that the flitting hubby's name was Robert?"
Marjorie nods.