“I know there is no intelligence in this office. This is merely the anteroom of a hospital and you are the superintendent. By rights you ought to be on the faculty. I am perfectly willing to pay for any loss of time or trouble to which you and the young ladies may be put.”
“Must she be young?” asked Mrs. Morris.
Her voice was at least thirty degrees below zero, for all that there was no devilishness about Mr. Jerningham. He said:
“Yes; and good-looking—not a girl in her teens, but a young woman. I should say, without meaning to be personal, about your age, Mrs. Morris.”
It was plain that Mrs. Morris had almost superhuman control over her facial muscles—she did not beam on him!
“I understand,” she said, in a quite human voice. This man was, after all, neither rude nor blind. “A woman—”
“About thirty—or a little less,” said Jerningham. He looked at Mrs. Morris's face and nodded confirmatively.
“Exactly,” said Mrs. Morris, genially. First impressions are so apt to be unfair!
“I'll be more than satisfied with one of your age and good loo—and—er—appearance “—here the Morris smile irrepressibly made its début—“and also tactful. It is an unusual case. It will necessitate going to Europe.”
“With the patient?”