"I'm ready."
"Put me on the right car for Hotel Frisbie. The Boston street-cars are a hopeless muddle to me,—always were and always will be."
"I'll escort you to the hotel."
"Oh, that's too kind!" exclaimed Miss Martha. "I'm not quite non compos. I can get out all right. It's the getting in that's the puzzle."
"But I have to go there myself. Judge Trent thought you might need a lieutenant. He has sent me to help you."
The color rushed to Miss Martha's face. Calvin was thinking of her, after all. Her eyes glistened with sudden hope.
"What is he willing to do?" she demanded.
"Nothing—that is, very little," responded Dunham hastily. "You, I suppose, are acquainted with this young lady?"
"Indeed I'm not!" Miss Martha repudiated the charge with energy. "And I'm not nearly as well able to help her as Calvin is. So he sent you. He has a conscience about it, after all. I don't suppose he'd consent to her living with him?"
"Not for one moment," returned Dunham quickly. "Whatever course you consider, that idea must be dismissed."