The more she was opposed the more persistently she clung to her lover.
Dr. Fred took her with him a great deal, and once, when he drove me, I heard him entreating her to give the man—Paul Garret they called him—up.
"You are all I have left, daughter," he said, pleadingly, "and I can't bear to see you throw yourself away on that fellow."
"Mamma don't oppose me," pouted Bobby.
"Did she ever oppose any of my children when they were rushing to ruin, I wonder!" he cried bitterly.
"And you are entirely too young to think of marriage yet, anyway," he added. "I am willing to do anything for you; send you off to school, give you music, painting, anything you name, only give up going with, or even thinking of, that worthless fellow."
She kept so quiet all the rest of the way that I thought she was convinced and meant to yield obedience at last. It could not have been more than a fortnight after that, that I was startled one night by a hand on my head and Bobby's sweet voice whispering:
"Be a good boy, Dandy, and don't make a mite of noise."
What could it mean?
I knew Burr was away that night, and feared that something was wrong.