“Why—yes; I’m his doctor—and I’m afraid he’s ill.”
“Oh—that. But look here—if you’re his doctor, why didn’t you know which was his place? You’re pretty slick, mister, but it’s a bit fishy—I think.”
She half withdrew back into her own doorway, but curiosity still detained her, and, too, Doctor Davenport’s demeanor impressed her as being quite all right.
“Nothing wrong—is there?” she whispered, coming across the small hall, and peering into the doctor’s face.
“Oh, no—I think not. But he may be helpless, and I must get in. I’ve never been here before, but I’ve been called by him just now. I must get in. Where’s the janitor?”
“Where, indeed? If you can find him, I’ll bless you forever. I’ve wanted him all day.”
“Isn’t he on duty?”
“He doesn’t know the meaning of duty. It’s something he’s never on.”
She smiled at him, and noticing her for the first time, Davenport saw that she was handsome, in a careless, rather blatant way.
Her ash-blonde hair was loosely pinned up, and her dress—negligee or tea-gown—was fussy with lace, and not quite immaculate.