She waited a moment, holding Frankie by the hand. If he had looked at her, he would have recognized her expression, for it was the expression worn by mothers, aunts, and all female relatives of young children, and it meant that she was waiting to hear what a unique and wonderful child Frankie was; but Dr. Joe was lost in his unusually dismal thoughts. He was roused from them only by the sound of her voice.
“Well, thank you again!” she said. “Come, Frankie! We’ll have to hurry.”
Then he remembered what the weather was.
“No!” he said. “You can’t go out in this storm. No—I’ll take you home in my car.”
Perhaps, on Frankie’s account, the girl would have accepted this offer, but just at this moment the dining room door opened and Mrs. MacAdams appeared.
“Your dinner is on the table, doctor,” she said, in a severe and deeply wounded tone.
“In a minute,” said Dr. Joe. “I’m going out first.”
“Oh, no!” cried the girl. “No, please! No, we really won’t let you! We’ll sit here till the rain lets up. I have an umbrella. Please, doctor, don’t keep your dinner waiting!”
“I don’t care about my dinner,” said Dr. Joe.
Mrs. MacAdams coughed.