He greeted her for the
first time without ulterior questioning. He thought he liked her pretty
well now. And she was undeniably good to look at in the white of her
tennis costume; the hair, like Nap's spots in its golden brown, was
filleted with a scarlet ribbon, and her eyes shone from her freshened
face with an unwonted sparkle--decision, certitude--what was it? He
deemed that he knew.
"Tommy Hollins coming to play," she vouchsafed in explanation of the
racquet she carried. "Are you glad to go?"
"Glad to see my dog again." He smiled as a man of the world. He was on
the verge of coquetry, now that he knew it to be safe.
"We'll bring him along too, next time."
"Oh, the next time!" He put it carelessly aside.
"You'll be out again, soon enough. I simply know Pops is going to have
another bad spell--in a week or so."
He could have sworn that the eyes of Breede's daughter gleamed with cold
anticipatory malice. He shuddered for Breede. And he wished Tommy
Hollins well of his bargain. Flirt, indeed! All alike!
"Chubbins!" called the unconscious father from afar.
"Yes, Pops!" She gripped his hand with a well-muscled fervour. "Oh,
he'll have another in a little while, don't you worry!" And she was off,
with this evil in her heart, to a father but now convalescent.
Marvelling, he walked on to the Demon's ambuscade. She pounced upon him
from behind a half-opened door.
"I want to say one word, young man.
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