As Gideon looked out the window, he noticed the unusual stillness of the night. Typically, the wind would be howling, but there wasn't even a snowflake in sight tonight.
Where was this supposed blizzard? Mildred's lie was blatantly obvious.
"Grandma, our humble abode is too lowly for the likes of the noble Mr. Killian. It's best not to insist he stays. It might only put him in an awkward position," Gideon said.
He was willing to reconsider his opinion of Bernard, but letting him spend the night was too soon. At the very least, they should wait until Hera came of age.
Logically, Bernard should have agreed and dropped the idea of staying the night after hearing Gideon's words.
However, he merely offered a sideways glance at Gideon before rising to select a bottle of whisky from the living room's wine rack. He poured himself a glass, taking a sip with an air of quiet refinement.
Mildred, seemingly realizing her faux pas, quickly exclaimed, "You're absolutely right, Gideon! How thoughtless of me. James, please check if there's a presidential suite available at the Imperial Hotel for Mr. Killian."
James immediately made the call and soon confirmed the reservation.
Mildred relayed the room number to Hera and said, "Go and see Mr. Killian off."
"Alright," Hera agreed, heading upstairs to retrieve Bernard's medicine.
She returned downstairs and said, "I won't be staying here tonight."
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