"Thursday. Hm. What am I doing then?" her father questioned for, as may be imagined, it was Olive who kept the run of his engagements.
"Nothing, after the hospital directors' meeting at two. Really," Olive spoke a little absently, herself; "I almost wish that you were."
As invariably happened, the doctor's attention became alert when she least expected it.
"Eh? What?" he asked her, in manifest surprise, for it was most unusual for Olive to balk at any invitation.
Her colour came.
"Oh, it's all right. Of course, we'll go. In fact, there's no getting out of it, as long as you are senior warden."
The doctor fished for the cord of his see-off glasses. When they were astride his nose,—
"You like Mrs. Dennison, Olive," he said crisply. "Therefore, by a process of elimination, it probably is the Brentons you don't want to meet. What is the matter with them?"
"Oh, nothing," the girl evaded. "It's only that I hate too prompt a rushing into a new acquaintance."
"Not always," her father reminded her. "As a rule, you've been willing enough to meet the new people at the college."