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
