“Where is Miss Austin?” asked Doctor Waring, returning, quite composed and calm.
“She went home,” informed Mrs. Bates. “Are you all right, John?”
“Oh, yes, dear. I wasn’t ill, or anything like that. The awkward accident touched my nerves, and I wanted to run away and hide.”
He smiled whimsically, looking like a naughty schoolboy, and Emily Bates took his hand and drew him down to a seat beside her.
“What made you drop it, John?” she said, with a direct look into his eyes.
He hesitated a moment, and his own glance wandered, then he said, “I don’t know, Emily; I suppose it was a sudden physical contraction of the muscles of my hand—and I couldn’t control it.”
Mrs. Bates didn’t look satisfied, but she did not pursue the subject. Then the discussion of Anita was resumed.
“How did you like her looks, Doctor Waring?” Helen Peyton asked.
“I scarcely saw her,” was the quiet reply. “Did you all admire her?”
“Some of us did.” Mrs. Bates answered; “I do, for one. Did you ever see her before, John?”