"Doctor Jenkinson," he began earnestly, "don't you think it would be wise to see Miss Holladay—you know how her father trusted you, and relied on you—and assure yourself that she's in good hands? I confess, I don't know what to think, but I fear some danger is hanging over her. Perhaps she may even have fallen into the hands of the faith-curists."
Jenkinson smiled.
"The advice to seek rest and quiet seems sane enough," he said, "and utterly unlike any that a faith-curist would give."
"But still, if you could see for yourself," persisted Mr. Royce.
The doctor hesitated, drumming with his fingers upon the arm of his chair.
"Such a course would be somewhat unprofessional," he said at last. "Still, I might call in a merely social way. My interest in the family would, I think, excuse me."
Mr. Royce's face brightened, and he caught the doctor's hand.
"Thank you, sir," he said warmly. "It will lift a great anxiety from the firm, and, I may add, from me, personally."
The doctor laughed good-naturedly.
"I knew that, of course," he said. "We doctors hear all the gossip going. I might add that I was glad to hear this bit. If you'll wait for me here, I'll go at once."