"Nothing; but—I don't care about many things. I should like this, if it weren't for the clinics and the students and such things, and if I could be a little nearer home."
"When do you go home?"
"Christmas, if I live till then," Phebe laughed; but her mirth sounded rather lugubrious. Then she added half-involuntarily, "I wonder what you must think of me, Mr. Barrett. I'm not generally given to this kind of a scene."
"No matter," he said soothingly, much as he might have spoken to a child;
"I am an old acquaintance, you know; and I never tell tales."
Suddenly Phebe laughed out blithely.
"What about the last night you were at Quantuck, Mr. Barrett?"
"Oh—well, that was different. How could I know that my muddy, murderous
Amazon was Miss Phebe McAlister in disguise?"
This time, they both laughed, and Phebe felt better.
"Let's walk on," she suggested. "This bridge is getting monotonous. Is your arm quite strong again?"
"Perfectly. I think, if you'll let me, I can match your record in golf, before I go back to New York."