"Miss Darling! Oh!" The doctor waved his hand inconsequently. He still wanted time. He was still swallowing at that lump. "Why, she—she—I told you. She's the daughter of an old friend. Why, isn't she all right?" He feigned the deepest concern.
"All right!"
Voice and manner carried a message of satisfaction that was unmistakable. But the doctor chose to ignore it. The doctor felt himself now on sure ground. He summoned a still deeper concern to his countenance.
"Why, Denby, you don't mean she isn't all right? What's the trouble? Isn't she capable?—or don't you like her ways?"
"But I mean she is all right, man," retorted the other impatiently. "Why, Gleason, she's a wonder!"
Gleason, within whom the Hallelujah Chorus had become such a shout of triumph that he half expected to see Burke Denby cover his ears, managed to utter a cool—
"Really? Well, I'm glad, I'm sure."
"Well, she is. She's no ordinary girl." ("If Helen could but hear that!" exulted the doctor to himself.) "Why, what do you think? She can actually tell me some things about my own curios!"
"Then they are more than—er—potatoes to her? You know you said—"
"Yes, I know I did. But just hear this. In spite of her seeming intelligence and capability, I'd been dreading to open those cabinets and let her touch those things dad and I had spent so many dear years together gathering. But, of course, I knew that that was silly. One of my chief reasons for getting her was the cataloguing; and it was absurd not to set her at it. So one day, after everything else was done, I explained what I wanted, and told her to go ahead."