actually his mother. It implied, he felt sure, that he would have to live with her, however. He did not, he felt, want to go and live with Mrs. Cord. He went up, after a while, to look at the portrait on the dresser. She did not, he felt, attract him. What he wanted was to live where he could see Mrs. Markyn.
He noted uneasily that he dined alone instead of eating with the servants as he had when he was here before. Did this, taken in connection with the queer way that Beman had looked at him, mean that the adoption was to take place in spite of him? When he had finished dinner he went back to the window. It was growing dark; a thin mist had come in upon the city from the lake, through which the boulevard lamps and the automobile lights glowed hazily. He had decided that Mrs. Markyn would not come so late, when a limousine stopped before the house and Walter Markyn got out. There was a woman in the motor with him. She was not, Peewee realized, Mrs. Markyn; the indistinct glimpse he had of her—pretty, delicate, blond-haired—told him that it was Mrs. Cord.
