“I’ll write him at once,” said Miss Frink. “It shall go out this afternoon. We’ll mail it together.”
The patient’s long eyes rolled toward her listlessly.
“Yes. You’re going for a drive with me. Dr. Morton says you may.”
“H’m,” returned Hugh. “Not until I get a little more starch in my legs, I guess. I can barely get to this chair from the bed.”
“Oh, of course the butler and the coachman will carry you over the stairs.”
“Thanks, no. I prefer not to be handled like a rag doll.”
“What have you got that blanket on for?” demanded Miss Frink, suddenly becoming conscious of the patient’s garb.
“Why—” John Ogden in his preparations for his protégé had not had the foresight to prepare for inaction on his part. “I—I haven’t any bathrobe with me.”
Here the door opened and Leonard Grimshaw walked in. It entertained Hugh to note the abasement of the uplifted crest as the secretary saw his employer.
“I beg pardon. I didn’t know you were here, Miss Frink.”