"Downstairs!" he said with an accent of surprise, not of approval. "Is that wise?"
"I don't know."
"Who gave you leave?"
"I took it."
Dr. Duncan laughed. "Fulvia Rolfe all over!" he said. He had known her from infancy. "I am not sure that the plan has answered," and there was a critical look.
"I don't know; it doesn't matter. Please go to the study first; yes, padre! He will see you now, and—and if we put off—oh, you understand. Nigel is there; and he doesn't seem right."
"Nigel?"
"No, padre, padre. I don't see why. I had to say something about my birthday, and he couldn't stand it. He seems—I don't know how—not like himself. He actually—cried." She brought out the word in shamefaced style. "Do go quickly."
"Somebody else needs attention," said Dr. Duncan, who never could be pressed into a hurry.
"I—oh no—only I was silly, And it upset me too. But please afterwards tell me how padre really is, and if anything is wrong."