Mrs. Witherbee clasped her hands.
"And it's a two-mile sail to the nearest doctor!" she moaned.
"Never suggest a doctor to him," warned Rosalind. "He wouldn't understand and you can't tell what he might do. Don't think of such a thing!
"But if anything should happen—"
"We must run the risk. We must make the best of it somehow. I'd cut more ham than that, I think; he'll only be out after more if you don't. I'll get the bread; no need to call the servants. I imagine we'd better bring it to him on the porch."
An awed household watched Reginald Williams eat. It was a rapid and extensive proceeding.
"Sorry to have put you out," he roared genially as he emptied the coffee-pot. "But a man has to have a bite now and then to keep his body and soul in close relation."
"Of course," assented Mrs. Witherbee gently. "Good food, rest, and plenty of sleep."
"Oh, I'm not sleepy! I'm good for all night if there's anything doing."
"We live very quietly here, Mr. Williams."