He shook hands with young Haynes, and I could detect no hostility on Chapelle's part, but rather a friendly interest in a younger member of the medical profession.
Again I was thrown forward as a buffer. I was their excuse for being there. However, a newspaper experience gives you one thing, if no other—assurance.
"I believe you have a patient, a Miss Virginia Blakeley?" I ventured.
"Miss Blakeley? Oh yes, and her sister, also."
The mention of the names was enough. I was no longer needed as a buffer.
"Chapelle," blurted out Hampton, "you must have done something to her when you treated her face. There's a little red spot over her nose that hasn't healed yet."
Kennedy frowned at the impetuous interruption. Yet it was perhaps the best thing that could have happened.
"So," returned Chapelle, drawing back and placing his head on one side as he nodded it with each word, "you think I've spoiled her looks? Aren't the freckles gone?"
"Yes," retorted Hampton, bitterly, "but on her face is this new disfigurement."
"That?" shrugged Chapelle. "I know nothing of that—nor of the trance.
I have only my specialty."