But this he kept to
himself.
"Granny'll put a badge on you," promised the flapper. "We have to take
advantage of every little means."
He was still puzzling over this when they turned through a gateway,
imposing with its tangle of wrought iron and gilt, and at a decorously
reduced speed crinkled up a wide drive to the vast pile of gray stone
that housed the un-filial Breede.
[Illustration: "Daughter!" said Breede, with half a glance at the
flapper]
A taller and, Bean thought, a prettier girl than the flapper stepped
aside for them, looking at Bean as they passed. One could read her look
as one could not read the flapper's. It was outrageously languishing.
"Flirts with every one, makes no difference _who_!" explained the
flapper with a venomous sniff.
Bean laughed uneasily.
"She's my own dear sister, and I love her, but she's a perfect cat!"
Bean made deprecating sounds with his lips.
"I suppose people have been wondering where I was," confessed the
flapper as they descended upon the granite steps. "I forgot to tell them
I was going. Better hurry to Pops or he'll be murdering some one."
A man took his bag and preceded him into the big hall.
"Engaged, too!" called the flapper bitterly.
He found Breede imprisoned in a large, light room that looked to the
west. Below the windows a green hill fell sheerly away to the bank of a
lordly river, and beyond rose other hills that shimmered in the haze.
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