He was going, but turned to look at her again.
“Shall I accompany you to the door of your room?” he asked.
She shook her head, with a smile. This delay was a torment to her, but it must be endured.
“I am quite capable of finding my room. I hope Miss Huckins will be as well in a week from now as I am at this moment. But, doctor—” she had been struck by a strange possibility—“I should like to settle one little matter before we part. The money I have may not be quite safe in my hands. My memory might leave me again, and then Miss Huckins might suffer. If you will take charge of some of it on her account, I shall feel relieved.”
“It would be a wise precaution,” he admitted. “But you could just as well leave it at the desk.”
“So I can,” she smiled. Then, as his eye remained fixed on her: “You are wondering if I have friends. We both have and I have just come from telegraphing to one of them. You can leave us, with an easy mind. All that I dread is that Miss Huckins will worry about me if her consciousness should return during the night.”
“It will not return so soon. Next week we may look for it. Then you can be by to reassure her if she asks for you.”
Carmers eyes fell.
“I would not be a cause of distress to her for the world. She has been very good to me.” Bowing, she turned in the direction of the office.
The doctor, lifting his hat, took his departure. The interview might have lasted five minutes. She felt as though it had lasted an hour.