A faint newborn respect was indicated by his use of
"my grandfather" instead of "grampa."
"You can't," she affirmed abruptly. "You can't--_ever_. He'll never
forgive you as long as he lives."
"Perhaps not," agreed Anthony miserably. "Still--I might possibly square
myself by some sort of reformation and all that sort of thing--"
"He looked sick," she interrupted, "pale as flour."
"He _is_ sick. I told you that three months ago."
"I wish he'd died last week!" she said petulantly. "Inconsiderate old
fool!"
Neither of them laughed.
"But just let me say," she added quietly, "the next time I see you
acting with any woman like you did with Rachael Barnes last night, I'll
leave you--_just--like--that!_ I'm simply _not_ going to stand it!"
Anthony quailed.
"Oh, don't be absurd," he protested. "You know there's no woman in the
world for me except you--none, dearest."
His attempt at a tender note failed miserably--the more imminent danger
stalked back into the foreground.
"If I went to him," suggested Anthony, "and said with appropriate
biblical quotations that I'd walked too long in the way of
unrighteousness and at last seen the light--" He broke off and glanced
with a whimsical expression at his wife.
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