It was a medical, impersonal question. He might have been inquiring the age of her grandmother in Manitoba.
"I'm nearly twenty-six."
"You look younger, but no one can tell these days. Now as to references. What can you show me?"
"I have brought my certificate from the hospital, and I have my passport, of course——"
"Let me see them."
He examined both, not omitting to look at the libellous photograph on the passport.
"Still, these are not really sufficient, Miss—Miss Rowe. They tell me nothing of your reputation, your character."
"I'd thought of that," she replied quickly. "I've got a letter written by Miss Ferriss, the patient I came with. She's known me several years."
"Ah! And how am I to know you didn't write the letter yourself?"
She was on firm ground now.