Mrs. Batholommey was hurt, and she showed it in the reproachful look she cast at the doctor's unassailable, uninterested back.
"Oh, of course," she said, "all these little matters sound trivial to you. But men like you couldn't look after the workings of the next world, if other people didn't attend to this one. Somebody has to do it," she ended triumphantly.
"I fully appreciate the fact, Mistress Batholommey, that other people are making it possible for me to be myself——"
Here the conversation was interrupted by a couple of raps on the window pane.
"What's that?" cried Mrs. Batholommey, jumping up in alarm.
"Telegram for Frederik Grimm," came a voice from the darkness, and a form was silhouetted against the moonlight.
"Mr. Grimm's down at the hotel," said Mrs. Batholommey, hastily throwing up the window, "but I'll sign for it. Where do I sign?" she fluttered. "Oh, yes, I see, here!"
She wrote Frederik's name, then handed back the book to the telegraph boy, and closed the window. Just as she laid the telegram on the desk, Mr. Batholommey came into the room.
"Well, Doctor," he said with veiled sarcasm, "I would by all means suggest that we don't judge Frederik until the information Willem has volunteered can be verified."
"Umph!" grunted the doctor.