Before him stood a plate of that stew. He tasted it.
“It’s—cold,” he observed, in an apologetic tone.
In his heart he was afraid of Mrs. MacAdams. She was such a resigned, subdued woman, and always so completely in the right, that he felt vaguely guilty every time he saw her.
“I thought you would be in a hurry, doctor,” she said faintly. “I had no idea you would stay out in the hall so long, talking to that person.”
“No, no, of course you didn’t,” Dr. Joe hastily assured her. “Quite all right, Mrs. MacAdams. Many of ’em in the waiting room?”
“I believe I opened the door six times,” she answered, with angelic patience.
He felt guiltier than ever. The feeling that he was a tyrant to Mrs. MacAdams mingled with a wretched conviction that he had been unduly abrupt with the poor old woman in the hall, until he saw himself as an utterly heartless bully. He couldn’t bear it.
“I just want to see,” he murmured, with an ingratiating smile, and, getting up, opened the dining room door.
Katie was gone. The high-backed chair was occupied by the little red-haired boy, who sat there with his head thrown back and his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“Now see here!” said Dr. Joe indignantly. “Did she—did your nurse go off and leave you here?”