“She states her intention of coming to see me,” the Doctor continued, “but I cannot decipher her hieroglyphics sufficiently to find out the time. Perhaps you can assist me.”
“Is this a D?” asked Miss Lady, looking over his shoulder.
“I judge so; an adaptation of the Greek character. Why the art of handwriting should be considered obsolete, I am at a loss to—”
“Oh, she says she is coming to-day,” interrupted Miss Lady, “on the eleven train. I must go down and tell Uncle Jimpson to be at the station, and have Aunt Caroline put on another plate for dinner.”
“Then what are you going to do, my dear?”
“I was going to the cemetery.”
“You would better come up here instead. In your mental state a person is very sensitive to environment. You should avoid everything that excites the emotions. I think you can trust me to know what is best for you just now?”
“Indeed I can,” Miss Lady said impulsively; “you have helped me more than anybody. Daddy would be so grateful if he knew.”
“He does know,” announced the Doctor with the finality of one to whom all things have been revealed. “But we must not discuss these things now. Miss Wuster has just been reading me the account of young Dillingham's trial. Perhaps you have been following it?”
“Yes,” said Miss Lady without looking up.