“What can I do for you?” I asked. “You know I have retired from practice.”
“O, it isn’t about any old malady,” he explained. “Thank Heaven I’m as fit as a fiddle. The fact is, I wanted to ask your advice. It’s about—Miss, Miss Holt.”
“Yes?” I said. I knew instinctively what was coming, but it was no business of mine to make it any easier for the young bandits who proposed to carry off this treasure.
“Well,” he said, “the fact is, you know, she’s—there’s no one so topping; or perhaps you don’t know?”
“Why should I be ignorant?” I asked. “Because I’m so old?”
“Well, I don’t mean that,” he replied. “But you’re her guardian, aren’t you? And living here as she does. . .”
“Oh I see,” I said. “You mean that only strangers can discover how delightful people can be?”
“No, not exactly that,” he stammered, “although, as a matter of fact, you know, one does rather take one’s own people for granted. My sister Belle now—to me she’s the stodgiest kind of old thing, but you should see the fellows after her. Like flies. They’re not as keen as I am about Miss Holt, though.”
“Then I must suppose,” I said, “that Rose—Miss Holt—is much nicer away from home than she is when she is there.”
“Oh no!” he replied, “I didn’t mean that. I’m sure she’s always charming.”