He rather thought it was his duty to go and send him about his business.
Ted was a bit of a knight, at heart, and felt now the chivalric urge,
combining with others less unselfish, to go to the rescue of the damsel
and set her free of the false besieger.

Her undisguised admission of her caring for him was a bit
disconcerting, although perhaps also a little sweet to his youthful
male vanity. Her caring was a complication, made him feel as if somehow
he ought to make up to her for failing her in the big thing by granting
her the smaller favor.

By the time he had reached the top of the Hill he was rather definitely
committed in his own mind to the Holyoke trip, if he could throw enough
dust in his uncle's eyes to get away with it.

Arrived at the house he flung the other mail on the hall table and went
upstairs. As he passed his grandmother's room he noticed that the door
was ajar and stepped in for a word with her. She looked very still and
white as she lay there in the big, old fashioned four-poster bed! Poor
Granny! It was awfully sad to be old. Ted couldn't quite imagine it for
himself, somehow.

"'Lo, Granny dear," he greeted, stooping to kiss the withered old cheek.
"How goes it?"

"About as usual, dear. Any word from Larry?" There was a plaintive note
in Madame Holiday's voice. She was never quite content unless all the
"children" were under the family roof-tree. And Larry was particularly
dear to her heart.