The other's face wrought. His stammer possessed him. He flapped about like a wounded bird in a tumult of fear and pain.
"What?" he said. "She?—She's all right."
He did not show his visitor to the door. Mr. Trupp noticed it and wondered: for his host's manners were obviously perfect both by nature and tradition.
In the passage was the woman who had admitted him, feigning to dust. She opened the door for him as he wound himself elaborately up in his muffler.
"D'you let lodgings?" he asked.
Those steel blue eyes of hers were on him challenging and armed for resistance.
"He's my lodger."
"Yes," said Mr. Trupp. "But have you other rooms? I see your card's up."
"Sometimes."
"Because my patients ask me now and then if I can recommend them lodgings."